Iridescent Lies
by The Lady Arturia
Summary: There is but one way to keep a secret: you lie. But how many lies can you tell, how many secrets can you keep, and at the cost of what? Harry's nightmares are back, and he finally decides that they're taking control of his life; he needs to do something bout them. And in the process of getting rid of them, who does he end up meeting but Mind-Healer Draco Malfoy?
1. 1 Lie: The Beginning of the Lies

**_IMPORTANT:_** **This story has been translated into Chinese and Spanish by Chloe PR China and Chuchufleta PL respectively! Find the links in my bio and share to your friends who are looking for Drarry written in Chinese and Spanish!**

* * *

 **Disclaimer: Anything recognisable belongs to our Queen, JKR. Everything else is mine.**

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

 **The Beginning of The Lies**

* * *

 **[22 October 2011]**

 **11:43 PM**

He awoke with a start, covered in sweat, panting and gasping for breath. He stayed still, eyes darting around as he tried to see in the dark. Fumbling for a moment, he found his wand and cast a wordless Lumos spell, slowly moving his hand in a wide arc. When he was convinced that there were no uninvited visitors in the room, he leaned back against the pillows and sighed.

Breathing deeply, he focused on calming his racing heart as he swiped a hand across his forehead. Ginny stirred beside him and he turned to find her watching him, bleary-eyed.

"Harry? What's wrong?" she rasped, her words thick with sleep.

"It's nothing, go back to sleep," he whispered. She eyed him for a moment longer before nodding and turning away.

He watched as her breathing slowed, and once he was sure that she was under the lull of sleep, he flicked his wand and muttered a few spells. When all the protective enchantments were in place, he set his wand down on the bedside table, cracked open one of the drawers, and, after some rummaging, pulled out a small vial. He squinted at the label, found it was the wrong one, and after searching for a moment longer, found the right one: a vial of Potion for Dreamless Sleep.

Tipping a substantial amount of the liquid down his throat, he returned it to its spot and lowered himself under the blankets, pulling it all the way up till his chin.

He stared at the ceiling till he felt the familiar tug of unconsciousness pull at his senses and willingly gave in as it drew him under its veil of blackness.

* * *

 **[23 October 2011]**

 **10:51 AM**

"You're getting nightmares again?"

He nodded as Hermione placed a steaming cup of tea on the table and eased into the chair across from him.

"Does Ginny know?"

"Of course not."

"How come?"

He rolled his eyes at her and said, "Because I didn't tell her. Why do you think?"

Hermione pursed her lips and clasped her hands together.

"So why is it that you're telling me this when your wife doesn't know?"

"If you didn't want me to tell you, you should have said so _before_ I—"

"I didn't mean it like that," she cut in, waving a hand. "All I meant was that I'm surprised that you came to me first."

"You're my best friend, Hermione. What's so surprising about it?"

She opened her mouth to say something, but there was a ping from the kitchen and she bustled away. He sipped on his tea slowly as he waited for her to come back, and she did, about five minutes later, with a tray of freshly-baked biscuits in her hands.

She laid the biscuits out to cool on the side table and returned to her seat.

"So, as I was saying," she began as she took off her oven mitts and placed them neatly on the table, "you should tell Ginny."

"Hermione, if I could talk to Ginny about this, I wouldn't be here, now, would I?" he snapped, frustrated that she wouldn't just let it go.

Being the stubborn person that she was, though, she simply gave him an endearing sort of look and sat back, as though waiting for him to explain himself.

He sighed.

"The kids will be back from the Burrow tomorrow, and if I tell Ginny that the nightmares about my memories of the war and all of my death-defying moments are coming back to haunt me when it's been a decade since the last ones…you know how she is, Hermione. She'll become hyper-conscious of every single thing that I do, and the kids will start to notice."

She had a thoughtful expression on her face and finally nodded.

"I suppose you're right. She _does_ take after her mother, after all."

He snorted at that and reached for a biscuit—only to have his hand smacked away.

"Hey!"

"Let me cool it, don't be in such a rush," she admonished as she flicked her wand and cast a cooling spell on the tray. "There, _now_ you can have some."

"May I?" he asked sarcastically and she nodded, smiling.

"Yes, you may."

He rolled his eyes as he took a biscuit and bit into it, humming at the way it melted in his mouth.

"Is it good?" she asked nervously. He wondered if he should pretend like it wasn't just to tease her, but decided against it. Knowing Hermione, she'd probably make a new batch and force him to stay till they were done so he could taste-test them for her.

"They're amazing! Who knew, huh?"

"And of course you have to say it in a way that makes me wonder if it's meant to be a compliment or an insult," she said flatly, looking miffed.

He grinned and relaxed, glad that he'd decided to come talk to her.

"See? This is exactly why I came to you first. If you were Ginny, you'd be dragging me off to some Mind-Healer just about now."

The corners of her mouth twitched as she tried to hide her smile. "Well, it's out of concern that she does what she does."

"I know that; doesn't mean I have to be happy about it, though."

He didn't mean to make it sound like he was complaining, but the way Hermione's forehead creased into a worried frown made him wave his hand and try to make light of his words.

"It's like you and Ron, except Ginny's far more reasonable when she isn't being completely adamant about something."

Hermione didn't look very convinced, but before she could reply, there was the gush of the Floo and Ron's voice called from the next room.

"He's home early," Hermione said as she stood, making for the door.

Harry grabbed her arm and gave her a pointed look. "I hope you remember that I told you this in confidence."

She frowned. "I know, Harry, and I won't tell Ginny unless you want me to."

"It isn't Ginny I'm worried about."

Hermione's eyes widened and she got a slack-jawed expression on her face.

"You want me to _lie_ to Ron?" she whispered hurriedly as Ron's footsteps echoed down the hall.

"You don't have to lie, just…don't tell him the truth," he whispered back, giving her a furious look.

"It's the same thing!"

"No, it's not!"

"Hermione, give me a hand, would you? Didn't you hear me shouting from the next room?"

They broke off their glaring contest as Ron stumbled into the room, his arms laden with bags upon bags.

"What in heaven's name is all this stuff?" Hermione exclaimed, immediately helping to extricate Ron from under the bags.

Harry took most of them from Ron and dropped them on the table and chairs, peeking into one out of curiosity.

"Ron…is this what I think it is…"

"Harry! There you are! I went over to your place and Ginny told me you were here so I had to come all the way back," Ron said as he rummaged around inside the bag and pulled out several boxes.

"Here," he said, handing over four boxes to Harry. "These are for you and the kids. And these," he gave four to Hermione, "are for us!"

"Mobile phones?" Harry and Hermione said together, sharing a look.

"That's right! I saw these on sale when I was out buying things for the shop and I thought why not, you know?"

"No, I _don't_ know," Hermione snapped, crossing her arms. "Please explain to me why you wasted so much money on buying _more_ mobile phones when we already have enough?"

" _Wasting money_ , she says," Ron laughed, pecking his wife on the cheek. "Even though you're a Muggleborn."

"That has nothing to do with anything," Hermione huffed, going red in the face. "We already _have_ mobile phones, why in the world do we need more?"

Ron frowned. "Because those aren't the newest kind."

Hermione gave him an incredulous look, as though she simply didn't see the logic behind his reasoning. "That makes no sense, Ron! We don't _need_ new phones, the ones we have work perfectly fine!"

Sensing the beginning of another row, Harry slowly tried to excuse himself without drawing too much attention. Unfortunately for him, Ron had other plans.

"Don't forget to take these, mate," he said, placing the boxes that Harry'd put down back in Harry's hands and grinning at him. "I left Ginny one when I went over and gave her the ones for the kids but she insisted I speak with you first."

"I wonder why," Hermione grumbled from behind her husband as she inspected the boxes. "Ron! These are all the latest models! How much did you spend on these?"

He shrugged as he made to open one. "Dunno, I just handed over the money and the shop lady did what she had to."

Both Harry and Hermione stared at Ron.

"All right, that's it, we're returning all of these," Hermione said crisply, piling the boxes together and putting them back in the bag.

"What, why? I paid a lot for those!"

"And for no reason, too! One phone, or even two, is understandable, Ron, but _eight?_ "

"Ten, if you count mine and Ginny's."

"Ronald!"

"Alright, you two, that's enough. Ron, Hermione's right. We don't really have any use for these phones. Especially the kids. What're they even going to do with Muggle phones? I don't want them getting used to them at such a young age, and you know they don't work anywhere _near_ Hogwarts' enchantments, let alone _inside_ them," Harry reasoned, putting the boxes in his arms away.

"Ah," Ron said and Hermione smacked his arm. "Hey!"

"For goodness' sake, Ronald, please stop wasting money on rubbish," Hermione said sternly.

"Well then, that's my cue to leave," Harry said just as Ron opened his mouth to retort.

"Oh, wait, I'll pack some of these biscuits for you and Ginny," Hermione said, emptying one of the smaller bags and placing half the biscuits in it.

"Thanks," he said and Hermione nodded, leading him out of the room. "Er, Hermione, I know where the Floo is—"

"You better decide how you're going to deal with your… situation, and you better do it fast. I can keep it a secret from Ron for as long as possible, but you live with Ginny, and she's much smarter than you give her credit for. You of all people should know that," Hermione said in a hurried whisper.

He nodded and hugged her briefly before walking to the fireplace.

"Oh, and Harry?" she called as he stepped under the mantle and threw down the Floo powder.

"Yeah?"

"Take care of yourself."

* * *

 **12:02 PM**

"Oh, good, perfect timing. Here, help me with this."

He walked up to where Ginny was trying to keep a rather large banner hanging in mid-air and held up one end to keep it steady.

"What's this?" he asked curiously, leaning over to eye the blank banner.

"A little higher, Harry, that's right," Ginny said busily, ignoring his question. He raised his hand as she fiddled with the other end, moving her wand slowly so it didn't drop.

"What's this for?" he asked again as she took a step back to admire her handiwork.

"Angie's birthday," came the distracted reply, and he sighed as he watched her pin the edge to the curtain.

"How much longer do I have to hold this up for?" he snapped loudly when she left the room, muttering to herself.

"One more minute! Gosh, you act as though I'm forcing you to do it," came the muffled reply and he sighed.

Lately, his relationship with Ginny had gotten sort of… tense… if he had to put it in a nice way. He had thought that he was at fault, at first, considering how much he'd been away lately due to all the Auror work, and his recent insomnia, but Ginny wasn't making it any better.

Initially, she hadn't really complained all that much, saying she understood that his work was important, but during the past couple months, she'd constantly been on edge. The stress from the upcoming tournaments she was supposed to cover was taking a toll on her. It was no wonder that—considering her already-fiery temper—Harry had decided to ship the children off to all their cousins' houses every chance he got. It was either that or deal with everyone screaming at the top of their lungs and Lily's incessant crying.

He had decided to take the week off from work when the kids got back from their weekend at the Burrow, and Ginny had promised to do the same as well, but he could sense that she wasn't wholly happy about it. In fact, she seemed to get grumpier by the hour, constantly complaining about something or the other and unnecessarily cleaning the house over and over again.

She needed a break from their everyday life. _They_ needed a break, and he planned to make use of the upcoming week for just that, but somehow he had a feeling his wife had other plans.

"Ginny, do I _have_ to hold this up? Can't I just Levitate it?" he yelled when it didn't seem like she was coming back any time soon.

When there was no answer, he swore under his breath and, pulling out his wand, pointed it at the banner.

" _Wingardium Leviosa."_

The large streamer fluttered and then hovered in place. He slowly raised his wand till both ends were level and then nodded.

Ginny came bustling in just then, her arms laden with colourful party decorations. She took one look at the floating banner, and then at Harry's wand, and with an apparently satisfied nod, went about her business. He sighed as he eased into the nearest armchair, leaning back and resting his elbow on the armrest as he kept the banner hovering in mid-air.

"So why exactly do I need to keep this thing hanging in the air when you're clearly not doing anything with it?" he finally asked as Ginny began to string together some of the decorations.

"Oh, you can put it down now," she replied offhandedly, without looking up from what she was doing.

Exhausted as he was from his lack of sleep and all the recent stress, he carefully lowered the banner to the ground, sat back, and let his eyes slip closed.

Ginny started humming after a minute—a song that he recognised from their wedding day. It was the one that they had shared their first dance to. He smiled as he let the melody lull his tired mind into the much-needed realm of sleep.

* * *

 _When he opened his eyes, it was to the sight of a burning ocean. He cried out as waves of lava lapped against the rocky shore, and scrambled onto the jagged boulders in order to escape the molten undulations._

 _He had just made some headway up the rather unstable peak when it began to crumble, turning into fine sand under his fingertips. Watching as the dark granules flowed down his palm, he shuddered as the shrill call of a bird echoed above him._

 _A phoenix circled just below the stormy clouds, its fiery wings outstretched and its beak parted in song. He could barely hear its woeful cries as the waves continued to crash against the rocks, their molten touch eating away at everything they came in contact with._

 _The phoenix continued to sing as he began to climb the collapsing rock, his footholds falling away the second he raised his toes off of them. Gasping for breath, suffocated by the smoke that rose from the ocean of lava, he struggled in his ascent, eyes watering as he tried to see through the thick cloud of dust._

 _He had just reached the top, exclaiming with joy, when a shadow loomed over the edge. Fumbling for his wand, he realised he didn't have it on him, and he watched as the smoke cleared to reveal the sneering face of Voldemort._

 _In his moment of shock, his hold on the grimy surface slipped, and he was falling, straight into the burning ocean—straight into hell._

* * *

 **4:13 PM**

He jerked awake, raking a hand through his hair and finding it wet with sweat. He sat up, disoriented and confused. It took him a moment to find his wand and another moment to Summon his glasses. He placed them on the bridge of his nose and scanned the living room.

The sun had gone down, so he had been asleep for a good portion of the afternoon, and Ginny's decorations and banner were no longer strewn across the floor. In fact, it seemed like there had been no sign of activity in the room for quite a while.

Panicking, and still disoriented from his nightmare, he stumbled out of the armchair, calling for his wife.

"Ginny! Gin, where are you?"

He eyed the shawl that had been draped over him and picked it up just as Ginny rushed into the room.

"I'm here, Harry. What's wrong?" she asked, her brown eyes wide with worry.

He shook his head and hugged her, kissing her hair. "No, it's nothing. I thought you weren't home."

"I was in your study," she said, holding him close and giving him a searching look. "Did you have another nightmare?"

"No," he answered rather forcefully, making her frown.

 _She's already suspecting that my nightmares are back._

"No, I'm not. I just woke up and didn't see the banner and the other stuff, so I thought you'd left."

Ginny shook her head. "Why would I leave? I just moved everything to your study because I had more access to stationery there."

"Yeah," he said, laughing lightly. He was being paranoid for no reason. The nightmares were starting to affect him far more than he wanted them to.

"Harry?"

"Yeah, no, you're right. I just panicked, sorry."

She watched him for a moment longer and then offered him a small smile. "Why don't I make you a cup of tea?" she asked, pecking him on the cheek.

"That would be great, thanks," he said with a smile.

She nodded and walked to the kitchen isle, giving him a moment to calm himself. He inhaled shakily and ran the tip of his wand over his body and clothes, cleaning himself with a simple freshening charm Hermione and Ginny had stumbled upon when trying to get the kids to clean themselves.

He walked over to the counter and perched on the seat, placing his arms on the table top and leaning forwards with a sigh. His eyes slipped half-shut as he watched Ginny pour the tea into a rather large mug and place it in front of him.

"You look exhausted," she commented lightly as he took the mug without complaint.

"Been having a tough week at the office," he murmured as he sipped the scalding liquid, revelling at the burn in his throat.

She hummed as she rummaged through the cupboards and extricated a bottle of Firewhiskey from the back of a cabinet. She held it out to him and he raised his eyebrows.

"Alcohol before dinner?" he asked, although he pushed his mug forward and let her pour a generous amount into it.

"It's not every day that you get to sit down and relax and have some Firewhiskey with your tea," she answered as she brought out a glass for herself.

"When have I ever had Firewhiskey with my tea?"

"Exactly," she said, tipping her glass towards him and shooting him a coy smile.

He couldn't help but grin at that. It had been a while since the feisty Ginny he'd married had resurfaced over the rather stressed out, easily angered one she had turned into lately.

"So," he started as she downed her drink in one shot. "I was thinking we really should spend this week away from home, like we'd planned. Take the kids out. Have some fun."

He watched as she poured herself another glass and swirled the dark liquid around, staring at it intently.

"Or maybe not the whole week," he said quickly, not wanting to ruin the homely mood they had just created. "At least a few days after the kids get back—"

"I can't."

Taking a long swig from his mug, he let the angry burn of the Firewhiskey trail down his throat before he placed it down and sighed deeply. He had expected this sooner or later, but he had hoped it would be later.

"Why's that?" he asked, consciously keeping the accusing tone from his voice.

"It's Angie's birthday—"

"As you've told me already. What does that have to do with anything?"

She winced at the sharpness of his tone but he didn't feel guilty about it. He finished the rest of his mug and poured himself more Firewhiskey.

"Harry, haven't you had enough—"

"Answer the question."

She sighed as she tapped her glass, staring at the table top and refusing to meet his eye. Frustrated by that, he reached forwards and, placing his finger under her chin, forced her to look up at him. The second he saw the turmoil in her eyes, though, his anger seemed to dissipate—although it didn't disappear completely. What had been a furious rumble had simmered down to a quiet hiss.

"Ginny," he urged, and she pulled away, dropping her gaze once again.

He waited, knowing that she would tell him eventually. If there was one thing he had learnt from being married to her for a little over a decade, it was that Ginny was someone who needed to be given space and time, and lots of patience. She would come forth with whatever she wanted to say on her own, and pressurising her wouldn't help in the least. In fact, pushing her worked to the opposite effect.

"It's just," she finally began, after fiddling around with random things kept on the counter, "Angie said something a few weeks ago… and I thought it would be a good idea…"

When she didn't continue even after an unbearably long pause, he shifted in his seat and asked, "What did she say?"

Ginny looked up at him then and he instantly recognised the guilt and fear in her eyes. She thought she was doing something terrible. Knowing that itself placated him far more than anything she could have told him, would have. He could make a guess as to what this grand plan of Angelina's was, but he wanted to hear it from her, so he relaxed his features into a reassuring smile and nodded.

She inhaled deeply and then blurted out whatever she wanted to say as quickly as possible. "Angie managed to get a week off from the Harpies because of her sprained wrist. She's been strictly instructed not to play till the tournament practices begin. So since she has the time off anyway, and her birthday's coming up, she wanted to take us girls out on a trip."

Unsure of why exactly Ginny had such a hard time telling him this story, he frowned and nodded slowly.

"Yeah, alright. How long will you be gone?"

Ginny looked up at him, a disbelieving look on her face. "You're OK with me going?"

He shrugged. "Sure, why not? Angelina's probably having a hard time as it is, being banned from Quidditch and all, plus I know you've been quite stressed out about covering the tournament this season, so I think it'll be good for you."

Sipping on his drink, he watched as Ginny fumbled around, looking lost for words. He wasn't really sure _why_ she was reacting that way, and wondered if he would ever find out.

"Well—I suppose so, but…"

"But?" he prompted, sitting back in his seat.

"You've been looking forward to this trip for _ages,_ and you even took time off from work and everything…"

He shrugged. "You'd made these plans a while back, I'm assuming, and I know how important your friendship with Angelina is… besides, I can still take the kids out, though it won't really be the same without you."

She half-sighed, half-gasped as she hugged him awkwardly over the table top, kissing him on the cheek. "Oh, Harry, thank you for being so understanding."

"I'm your husband, that's what I do," he said, raising his mug in toast.

She laughed airily and almost skipped around the counter, kissing him again and all but running out of the room with a hurried, "I absolutely _must_ tell everyone the good news."

He watched her disappear out the door and turned back to his drink, staring at the remnants of it at the very bottom of his mug. A nagging sensation was tugging at the back of his mind, but he ignored it as he finished off the last bit of Firewhiskey and moved to the sink to rinse the mug clean.

Whatever it was that Ginny wasn't telling him—and she most definitely wasn't telling him the entire truth—would come out sooner or later. He wondered briefly if this trip was what had put her in such a foul mood lately, and decided that their conversation had been for the best.

The kids would be home in less than a day, and his nightmares weren't going anywhere, so the happier Ginny was, the better. It would be simpler to keep his insomnia a secret from her when she was busy doing whatever she wanted to do than when he could constantly feel her gaze on him all day long.

He sighed, deciding that he may as well finish off what little bit of paperwork he had left since he wasn't about to get any sleep that night.

* * *

 **[24 October 2011]**

 **3:34 AM**

He started awake and blinked, stretching as he realised he had fallen asleep over his paperwork. The lights were off. and he figured it must've been Ginny's doing. Yawning, he eyed the clock on the desk and his eyebrows shot up.

 _Half past three? How long have I been asleep?_

He scratched his chin as he looked around, sleep clouding his vision. Groaning softly, he stretched his hand out to turn on the table lamp when he heard some rustling from the side. He went rigid, now wide awake, all his senses focused on the soft sound coming from his left.

Slowly reaching for his wand without a sound, he waved it so the door eased shut quietly. Unable to make out the dark figure—who had apparently not yet realised that he was awake—he flicked his wand again and all the lights in the study came on.

Squinting from the sudden brightness, it only took him a second to recognise who the intruder was.

"Ginny?" he asked incredulously.

She stared at him wide-eyed, doubled over as she reached for something. Straightening up quickly, she watched him with weary eyes, her cheeks flushed and a guilty expression on her face.

"I…was just—" she blustered, motioning to the pile of party decorations and the rolled banner under her arm.

He frowned and shook his head. "Ginny, it's nearly four in the morning. What the hell are you doing?"

She placed the things in her arms down carefully and turned to face him, pushing her short hair out of her face.

"I thought I'd come call you to bed, but I saw you sleeping and tried to wake you up, and when you wouldn't, I decided I didn't want to bother you, so I was about to leave—"

"And you suddenly decided to take the streamers with you?" he asked, the disbelief clear in his voice.

"No, I just thought—I nearly tripped over them so I was picking them up—"

"With the lights off?"

"I didn't want to disturb you!"

He shook his head, completely unconvinced. His irritation was rising back to the surface, and he wasn't in a mood to listen to his wife lie to his face in the middle of the night.

"Go back to bed," he told her softly, when she looked like she wanted to say something else. Whether it was his expression or his tone of voice, or whatever else, she simply nodded and moved towards the door.

Just before she stepped out, though, she bundled up the streamers and banner and everything else in her arms, and shut the door behind her. He stared at the dark wood and ruffled his hair in frustration.

He had been under the impression that Ginny's weird behaviour had more to do with the fact that he had been tense and moody of late, or the stress from her work, and after their previous conversation, Angelina's birthday, for some odd reason, but the way she was acting was far too suspicious. Grinding his teeth, he turned back to his unfinished paperwork, pushing Ginny and their troubled relationship aside for the morning.

* * *

 **A/n: Guess who's back with another multi-chap! That's right, me! Yay!**

 **So I've been meaning to write a Drarry for** ** _ages_** **now and I finally decided, after the previous Drarry one-shot [Resanesco] I wrote, that it was high time I get down to it.**

 **This story focuses on Harry's relationships, mostly, with Ginny, Hermione, and a bunch of other people, till it actually lands on Drarry. So let's just say it's a slow, gradual progression of events, and as you've noticed, I have dates and times given for each section of the story because this is a very slow moving multi-chap, timeline wise, in comparison to my previous two.**

 **Well, that's all from me, and I don't want to ramble, so please leave me a review with your thoughts! Reviews are as precious to me as Drarry is, so you know what to do!**

 **P.S. a huge thanks to my amazing betas, nymphxdora and lokilette. They're fantabulous so make sure you check out their profiles!**

 **Lots of love~**

 **Arty xx**


	2. 2 Lies: Conflicting Lies

**Chapter 2**

 **Conflicting Lies**

* * *

 **[24 October 2011]**

 **10:03 AM**

He had barely stepped out of the fireplace when two little figures barrelled into him, clinging on to his legs. Laughing, he supported his sons as they began to climb up his sides—something they did every single time they saw him after a rather long period of time.

"Boys! At least let your father come inside," Molly admonished, trying and failing to extricate the two from their father.

"It's good to see you, Molly," he said as he hugged the Weasley matriarch awkwardly around the boys.

"It's wonderful to see you too, Harry, darling," Molly replied jovially, kissing him on both cheeks. "Oh! I've made your favourite—Treacle Tart!"

"Tart!" the boys cheered. He laughed as he held on to Albus as the five-year-old swung from side to side.

"I won!" seven-year-old James yelled, propping himself atop Harry's shoulders.

"But I hugged daddy first," came Albus's muffled reply as he snuggled into Harry's chest.

"But I won!" James yelled again and stuck his tongue out at Albus.

"Daddy," Albus whined and James sniggered.

"Jamie! Al!" came Ginny's voice as she stepped out of the fireplace.

"Mummy! Daddy!" came a high pitched squeal simultaneously as three-year-old Lily, who looked like a wrapped toffee, in Ginny's old pink apron and hairnet, came running into the room.

"Hi, Lils," he replied, picking her up with one arm as Albus swung from the other.

"Alright you guys, come on, give daddy a break," Ginny said as she pulled James off from Harry's shoulders.

"Nooo!" he yelled, kicking his legs and struggling in his mother's arms.

"Jamie!" she scolded, placing the boy on the ground.

"Mummy, are we going home now?" Albus asked, coming to stand before Ginny and looking up at her wide-eyed.

"Yes, sweetheart, we are," she said gently, brushing the hair out of his eyes and kissing his forehead.

"Why?" the boy asked, pouting. "Uncle Georgie said he'd take us flying!"

"He will do no such thing!" Molly called as she bustled into the living room, several plates holding large pieces of tart floating after her. "Now, who wants tart?"

Effectively distracted, the three children cheered and sat cross-legged on the floor, watching excitedly as their grandmother Levitated the plates down to them.

"Dig in!" Molly said, and the kids did just that, spraying the tart everywhere.

He grinned as his plate floated over to him, and with a quick "Thanks," sat down and began digging in himself.

"Looks like it's straight into the bath for the whole lot of you as soon as we get home," Ginny said as she sat down beside him, pulling her own plate close to her.

"Or you could just use that cleaning charm on us and no one would be the wiser," he said around a piece of tart.

She shot him a look and he grinned.

Lily screamed just then. James had apparently stolen a piece of her tart and was holding it at arm's length, and Albus, who was staring at the piece of tart, ate it clean off James' fork. That led to a wrestling match between the two brothers while Lily cried for a bit before spotting her brothers' plates and dumping the contents on to her own. By the time James and Albus realised what had happened, Lily was patting her stomach, her cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk's, a satisfied smile on her face.

And then all hell broke loose.

He had to hold the boys back as Ginny kissed her mother and, with a hurried goodbye, stepped into the Floo carrying a screaming Lily. Molly instantly procured two more plates of tart, and Albus and James ate their share happily. Harry gave her a grateful smile as the older woman came to stand beside him.

"They must've been more than a handful," he said, rather apologetic about it.

"Nonsense! I've raised six boys and a girl. Two of whom were Fred and George, mind you. These three were absolute darlings in comparison."

He grinned at that and watched as his sons finished their plates, raced to the sink, climbed up on to the stools placed in front of the counter, and rinsed their plates clean.

"What did I say," Molly said affectionately as she ushered the boys away from the sink.

"We'll come again, Gram'ma!" Albus and James chorused as Harry helped them into the Floo.

"I'll make you your favourite treats!" Molly called, waving at them with a wide smile on her face.

"Thanks again," he said, hugging her.

The corners of her eyes crinkled as she patted his arm and nodded. "You take good care of them, Harry."

He smiled. "I will."

Stepping into the Floo, he stood between the two boys, making sure that both were holding on to him, and with a final wave at Molly, threw down the Floo powder.

* * *

 **2:58 PM**

He sighed as Lily began to cry, _again_ , the volume of her shrill wails rivalling that of James' angry shouts. Rising from his desk, he trudged downstairs, rubbing his eyes.

"Guys, come on, Daddy's working, can we please not fight?" he said as he entered the living room.

Lily instantly ran to him, and he picked her up, hoisting her on his hip and wiping the tears from her cheeks. He turned to see James standing with his arms crossed and an almighty scowl on his face.

He sighed again. "Alright, what happened?"

Both children started talking at once and he nodded, barely listening to whatever great crime Lily had committed that James couldn't forgive.

"It took me _three days_ to make it! It's a _masterpiece_!"

"He _told_ me to sit, so I did!"

He raised his eyebrows at his son, more curious about where James had learnt the word _masterpiece_ than about what this so-called masterpiece was.

"Alright, where's it broken?" he asked, putting Lily down and squatting beside what looked like a rather large, lopsided, yellow tricycle. He frowned. "Jamie, where did you get this?"

"I _made_ it!" came the indignant reply and Harry gave his son a pointed look.

"So you're telling me you _made_ this complicated looking tricycle? All on your own?"

James hesitated for a moment and started to nod before shaking his head. "Gran'pa got it for me, but I painted it!"

He groaned. Trust Arthur to buy his seven-year-old son a _tricycle_. Sometimes he wondered if the older wizard was under the impression that if he pretended like the kids were younger than they were, they wouldn't grow any faster. It seemed to be working, in a way, because no matter what Arthur bought any of his grandchildren, they adored it all the same. It was rather mind-boggling, considering the brats wouldn't even cast a second glance towards it if their parents ever tried to buy it for them. Grandparents were miracle workers, he'd come to learn.

"Lily, what did Grandpa get you?" he asked, knowing that it was impossible to get only one of the three a present.

"This!" she said proudly, holding out a large, blonde doll. It looked suspiciously like the ones that were all the rage in Muggle London.

"And Al?"

"A red tricycle!"

Rubbing his face with his palms, he made a mental note to remind Ginny to sit her father down and tell him to stop spoiling their kids rotten. Every time they dropped the kids over at the Burrow, which was more often than he'd like to admit, the trio would return with some present or the other. It was bad enough that they barely hesitated before demanding for something—and that him and Ginny bought it for them without question. It was about time to draw a line. He refused to let his kids grow into spoiled brats. The next thing he knew, they'd be counting their presents by the dozen.

The memory that brought on was not a pleasant one, and he rose to his feet, pulling his wand out. He waved it at the tricycle, fixing the lopsided seat that was far too small for James. Nevertheless, his son seemed immensely happy that his tricycle was fixed again.

"Thanks, Daddy!" James cried as he pranced around the cycle, and Lily looked on, wide-eyed.

He was just about to return to his study when Lily grabbed his shirt.

"When're Mummy and Al coming?" she asked and he checked his wristwatch.

"They should actually be home any minute now, with your Aunt Hermione."

Even as the words left his mouth, there was the whoosh of the Floo and Albus's voice. A minute later, Albus was running into the living room, mouth wide open as he pointed to the gaps where his pre-molars used to be.

"They're finally gone!" he exclaimed jubilantly, referring to his missing milk teeth. They hadn't fallen out and had to be removed since the new ones were already growing in.

Ginny had gotten oddly paranoid about it because Rose had apparently lost all of hers and Albus still hadn't lost all of his. So Hermione had spoken to her dad and Ginny'd taken Albus to see Mr Granger the second he had stepped out of the bath.

When Hermione entered the living room, she looked far more relieved than any of them.

"I'm so glad Rosie lost all her milk teeth. I never want to go through that again," she said in a low voice as James and Lily began to narrate the story of the tricycle breaking in loud voices.

"That bad?" he asked, grinning at her.

"Worse," she replied, sniffing. "Ginny nearly had an aneurysm when dad brought the syringe close to Al. I swear, I wasn't sure who was the one to get their teeth pulled out by the end of it."

"C'mon, she couldn't have been _all_ that bad," he laughed as Albus asked Ginny to bring his tricycle down so him and James could ride them behind the house.

"I've never really seen her like that," Hermione said softly as they watched Ginny and the kids troop out of the room. She turned to him and shook her head. "It made me quite nervous to see how panicked she seemed."

He tried to laugh it off as he led Hermione to the sofa, but she really _did_ look rather shaken up.

 _Just what happened at the dentist's?_

"So, have you told her yet?"

He groaned loudly and let his head drop. "Hermione," he grumbled.

"I'm only concerned!" she said defensively and he knew she was bristling without having to look at her.

"I know you are, but no matter how many times you ask me, the answer's going to remain the same," he told her seriously. "You know what happened the last time people found out I was getting nightmares. Besides, I'm dealing with them."

She pursed her lips, looking unconvinced, and cocked her head, as though listening for Ginny and the kids. There were excited shouts and giggles, and the sound of the back door opening and shutting. He craned his neck and peered out the living room window, smiling as he watched James and Albus zoom around the grass on their brand new tricycles—that were several sizes too small for them.

"Where did they even get those? Wait—don't tell me—Arthur?" Hermione asked, a knowing expression on her face.

"What did he get Rosie and Hugo?" he asked, grinning at the face she made.

"He got Rosie a wooden rocking horse and Hugo, a very large orange car."

He threw his head back and laughed, finding her tone of voice and facial expression far more hilarious than the actual tale. She didn't look very impressed, though.

"I mean, a _rocking horse,_ for heaven's sake! Rosie's _five,_ not three!"

"I'm sure she loved it, though," he said with a grin and Hermione shook her head in frustration.

"She _adores_ that ridiculous thing. And Hugo even carries his car into the bath—the paint's already started chipping."

He nodded in understanding, watching his sons ride their brightly coloured tricycles. "I never thought I'd see the day when Jamie would ride a tricycle. I mean, the tantrum he threw when we told him we'd him one three years ago. He absolutely _refused_ to even sit on it because, and I quote, ' _It's for babies'_."

"Look at them having the time of their lives," Hermione said rather fondly, although she made a face when Albus parked his tricycle near the window.

"Jamie's been wanting a cycle without training wheels, and Al refuses to get one with them because Jamie doesn't want them," he sighed, shaking his head.

When Hermione didn't answer, he looked up to see a rather nostalgic smile on her face.

"What?" he asked, ready to take offense if she was making fun of him.

"No, I was just thinking—it only seems like yesterday that the lot of us were running around Hogwarts, and now, look at us… sitting and complaining about what toys our _kids_ like and don't like…"

"Yeah," he said, standing up to go sit beside her. "Time really flies, doesn't it?"

"It does."

They sat watching the kids run around the garden till Ginny stormed into the kitchen, a tricycle in each hand.

"I don't care if I've to buy them cycles _without_ training wheels, I absolutely _refuse_ to have my sons ride these ridiculous things," she said, tossing the brightly coloured tricycles on to the ground.

Harry grinned at Hermione and she rolled her eyes as Ginny strode out with a mighty huff.

* * *

 **11:45 PM**

There was a knock on the door, and he looked up as Ginny poked her head into his study.

"Hey..."

"Hey," he said, placing his quill down and sitting back as she walked in.

She came to stand beside his desk, running a finger along the surface and biting her lip. He frowned.

"Ginny? What's going on?" he asked, the worry starting to build up from the pit of his stomach. She was behaving rather suspiciously.

"Well," she drawled, coming around the desk to stand beside his chair. "The kids are asleep…"

"Yeah," he said slowly as she leaned down, her eyes hooded.

"So I was thinking... maybe we could crack open a bottle of wine… and have a nice night… just the two of us…"

He leaned forwards and sniffed, blanching at the heavy scent of alcohol on her breath.

"Ginny, how much have you had to drink?" he asked seriously, standing up and holding her by the arms.

"Not much?" she said as she teetered and fell against him with a giggle.

He bit back a sigh as he steered her out of the study. "All right, come on, let's get you to bed."

"Noo," she whined, placing her hands on either side of the door and refusing to budge.

"Ginny—" he hissed, trying to pry her hands off the wood, "let go, damnit—"

"Don' wanna!"

After five minutes of fruitlessly trying to get her to let go, he sighed and let his head fall against his shoulder. He stayed that way for a long moment and felt Ginny drop her arms and intertwine her fingers with his. Raising his head slowly, he kissed her shoulder and she looked back at him.

"Hey," he said softly, nuzzling his nose against hers.

"Hi," she whispered back, smiling. "I'm really drunk," she added, biting her lip to stifle a giggle.

He chuckled lightly. "Yeah. Do you wanna maybe let me walk you out, now?"

"To the living room," she said adamantly and he smiled.

"Sure."

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"You know I love you, right?"

He looked at her curiously. "Of course I do," he said, pressing his lips to hers.

"Even though sometimes it doesn't seem like it?"

"When that time comes, I'll make sure to tell you," he said, and she gave him a watery smile and nodded.

He helped her out of the study and down the stairs, carrying her down the last few steps because she started giggling uncontrollably. Putting her down on the sofa, he went to get her a glass of water, but by the time he got back, she was curled up, fast asleep.

Smiling, he brushed the hair out of her face and was just about to Transfigure the cushion at her feet into a blanket when a soft tinkling caught his ear. Curious, he looked around till he found the source of the sound—which turned out to be a mobile phone, probably the one Ron had given her, in the pocket of her coat that hung on the stand by the front door.

He stared at the blocked number but received the call anyway, but before he could say anything, the person on the other end began to talk.

 _"Oh, good, I caught you in time!"_

 _Angelina? Why's she calling from an unknown number?_

 _"So, about this week, what's the plan? Do you want me to drop you off at the station or somewhere nearby? And when am I picking you up, Thursday or Friday?"_

The line went silent as Angelina waited for a reply—which he didn't give because he was rooted to the spot, his mouth hanging open.

Why was Angelina asking _Ginny_ what the plan was? Wasn't it _her_ birthday trip? And what was this whole thing about dropping her off at the station and picking her up a whole five days later?

Where was Ginny _going?_

 _"Gin, are you there? Listen, if you don't want to do this, it's fine, I'm sure he'll understand—"_

Panicking, he disconnected the call, his heart thundering in his chest. What had just happened? Why had Angelina gone out of her way to call from a blocked number instead of her normal phone or the home phone?

And _where_ was Ginny going?

Tapping the phone against his chin, he began to pace, his mind whirring from the new information he'd just received. So Ginny was going somewhere, but it wasn't with Angelina. Or maybe it _was,_ except she was making a stop somewhere else first—

 _For five days?_

He shook his head. Maybe he was just reading too much into the whole thing. There was a lot of background noise on Angelina's side, so she could have been out, which meant that maybe she was using a borrowed phone because she didn't have her phone on her…

 _And who was the guy she was referring to?_

Pausing in his pacing, he frowned, confused. Had Angelina been talking about _him_?

But if it _was_ him, then why was she talking as though _he_ was the one who had forced Ginny to go on the trip? He started to pace again but stopped short as a thought came to him.

 _Did Ginny lie to Angelina?_

There was a groan from the living room and he snapped his head towards the door, his heart lurching. Ginny moaned again, and he hurriedly dropped the phone in the coat pocket and strode into the living room.

She was reaching for the glass of water, and he helped her with it, placing it to her mouth and tilting it as she gulped down every last drop. She sighed deeply, her eyes fluttering shut, and he Transfigured the cushion into a blanket, draping it over her and tucking her in.

He stilled as she snuggled into the blanket, her breathing slowing as she went back to sleep. Leaning down, he made to kiss her hair, but paused at the last minute and pulled away.

Stroking his chin and feeling sick all of a sudden, he walked to the cabinets behind the kitchen isle and rummaged for a bottle of Firewhiskey. He found four—two were sealed, one was half-full, the one they'd opened yesterday, and the fourth was empty.

Picking up the empty bottle, he stared at it for a long moment and sighed. Grabbing the half-full one, he started to stand and then grabbed a sealed one as an afterthought. He placed the empty bottle in the space under the sink, grabbed the mug he'd used the previous evening, and made his way back to his study, casting one final look at his sleeping wife.

The second he had shut the door to his study, he placed a Muffling Charm on it so if he drank himself to oblivion, he wouldn't wake up to the kids' shrill screams. Placing the bottles and mug on the desk, he waved his wand and cleared the last bit of paperwork he'd left for later, opening the unsealed bottle with his free hand and filling the mug to the brim.

He stared at it for a long moment, regretting what he was about to do already, and, with a shrug, brought the mug to his lips.

* * *

 _He was standing in the middle of a barren prairie this time. There was nothing around him for as far as he could see—except for some dead shrubbery here and there, poking out of the cracked ground._

 _The wind whistled around him, rustling through his hair and clothes, and he began to walk, staring straight ahead. A sharp pain erupted from his foot and he looked down, realising he wasn't wearing any shoes. The cuffs of his pants were ripped, as though they had been torn off, and so were his sleeves._

 _He stared at his hands, turning them around, touching his cold fingers to each cut and each bruise. The wind started to howl, and he continued on his journey. He didn't know where he was going, but he knew there was somewhere he had to be._

 _After several minutes—or maybe hours—of walking nowhere, across the monotonous landscape, he heard the faint hoot of a train. Eyes widening, he looked around, expecting to see the Hogwarts Express shoot across the barren land._

 _Just as he had suspected, iron rails clicked together along the ground, running horizontally from his far left to his far right, disappearing into the horizon. There was another hoot and the pounding of a train's wheels. He waited, anticipation filling him with a dull throbbing, and as he watched, the train shot by him in all its grey glory._

 _Grey…? Since when was the Hogwarts Express grey?_

 _The train shot past him and disappeared into the light fog that was settling over the prairie. He looked to his right and saw nothing but more empty, barren land. The tracks and the train were nowhere to be seen._

 _He looked straight ahead and to his shock, there was someone standing there, turned away from him. She was wearing a frock with lace around the edges, and a large, poufy hat atop her short, ginger locks. There was something vaguely familiar about the girl._

 _Curious, he walked towards her, belatedly hearing the hooting of the train's whistle again. He reached her and placed his hand on her shoulder as the ground shuddered from the train that was swiftly approaching._

 _Was the girl waiting for the train?_

 _He saw the engine approach from the corner of his eyes, and just as the girl turned around, he was flung back and the train ran across the prairie. When it was gone, so was the girl, leaving him with nothing but a fleeting memory of her familiar face and the words she had whispered, carried away by the howling wind._

" _You know I love you, right? Even though sometimes it doesn't seem like it?"_

* * *

 **[25 October 2011]**

 **12:31 PM**

The first thing he did when he opened his eyes was groan, turning to his side and fumbling for the bottle of water he'd managed to Summon before he'd gotten pissed out of his mind. Splashing the water on to his face, he gulped it down, revelling at the clean, sweet taste that filled his mouth.

Rolling off the sofa—and sending a silent thank you to Hermione for suggesting that he get one—he checked the clock on his desk and groaned loudly.

"Half past twelve? You have _got_ to be joking," he grumbled, barely having the energy to clean himself up with the freshening charm that was swiftly becoming a mandatory part of his everyday life.

He stared at the door for a long moment, setting his thoughts straight, before undoing the Muffling Charm. Scrunching his face up, he braced himself for the barrage to come, but still winced when Lily's shrill screaming assaulted his sensitive ears.

"Bloody hell," he hissed, stuffing his fingers into his ears as he strode out and down the stairs.

" _What in Merlin's name is going on?"_ he yelled as he stepped into the living room.

Lily fell silent and several pairs of eyes—several more than there were supposed to be—stared at him. Ginny was by his side in an instant, a tall tumbler of strong-smelling liquid in her hand. He barely needed prompting before chugging down the Pepperup Potion, instantly feeling its kick wake him up.

"Looks like you lot've had a rough start to your week, eh?" George said with a wide grin, coming up to him and pulling him into a rough hug.

He groaned as he patted George on the back and pulled away, nodding and adjusting his glasses. "Yeah, rough start."

"What in the world happened?" Angelina asked, looking up from where she was helping Albus with a puzzle. "We Floo in here nice and early from dropping the kids off at the Burrow to find the wife passed out on the sofa, the husband locked away in his study, and the kids running rampant in the house."

"Yeah, sorry 'bout that, didn't know we were expecting company," he said, placing his hands on his waist and giving Ginny a pointed look.

"Oh," Angelina said, sharing a look of apparent mutual understanding with his wife. "I called last night, actually, but I guess you guys were already out by then."

His stomach lurched at that and he inhaled sharply, leaning back against the wall as he tried to suppress the headache that began to throb through his temples. Ginny was telling Angelina she hadn't found a missed call on the phone's call log and Angelina was saying maybe she called the landline connection by accident. He still hadn't thought the previous night's events through, and right now, with his hangover, he wasn't about to.

"Right, guys, hey," he said, clapping his hands together and diverting everyone's attention back to him. "Since you both are here, what say we go out and get some lunch?"

"Lunch date!" the kids shrieked and ran out, thundering up the stairs.

George shrugged and grinned. "Why not? It's not like we have anything planned or something. Right, Angie?"

"Sounds like a plan!" she said, putting away the puzzle and helping Ginny clear the living room.

"Alright, fantastic, I'll just go take a shower and then we can leave," he said, and began to walk away when Angelina came up to him.

"Hey," she said, rather nervously, wiping her palms on her pants.

"Hey," he replied, feeling a sudden sense of deja vu settle over him. "What's up?"

She opened her mouth, paused, and then said, "I was just wondering—did you answer Ginny's phone last night, by any chance?"

Feeling his heart begin to race, he took on a demeanour of confusion and shook his head. "Last night? No, I didn't. Ginny fell asleep on the sofa so I went up to get some work done. Why?"

She waved it off with a laugh. "No, it's nothing, I just thought someone answered the phone, but no one said anything, so I was just wondering…"

He cleared his throat and pushed his headache out of his mind for now. From the looks of it, he had bigger things to worry about. The way Angelina was acting was suspicious… or, rather, it was as though she was suspicious of something. _Maybe Ginny really did lie to her and Angie knows it._

He shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant, and motioned to where Ginny and George were having an animated conversation by the kitchen isle. "Maybe she answered the phone herself and doesn't remember. She was pretty hammered, last night."

Angelina gave him an odd look and he swallowed, making sure to keep his smile as natural as possible. If Ginny really _had_ lied, he was sure she had a good reason for it. There was no need for him to let Angelina know that she'd been lied to—especially since it seemed like it had something to do with him.

She finally nodded and looked towards where her husband and sister-in-law were, a somewhat worried expression on her face.

"It's just…" she trailed off, and he bit back a sigh. These women and their apparent inability to get to the point.

"It's just what?" he prompted and she turned back to look at him.

"It's just that Ginny took the phone out of her coat, this morning, when I asked her about it…"

"OK," he said, raising his eyebrows questioningly. "So what?"

"No, but, if she really _did_ answer it, why would she go all the way to put it back—"

"Look, Angie," he said quickly, cutting her off. "Ginny had quite a bit to drink last night, and if she could climb up the stairs to my study, I'm sure she could go put her phone back in her coat or whatever. I don't know why you're so worried about this, but whatever it is, don't overthink it. I'm sure it's not all that big a deal."

She nodded slowly and smiled. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right, I'm just being paranoid for no reason, sorry."

He glanced towards where Ginny was laughing at something George was saying. He caught her eye and instantly looked away, almost like he was guilty of knowing something he shouldn't have known. He turned to Angelina and gave her a small smile.

"Don't worry about it. We've all been a little paranoid lately."

* * *

 **A/n: A huge thank you to all those who have reviewed, favourited and followed this story!**

 **I especially love writing the kids, and that first bit was so much fun to write because they're such adorable munchkins. Any thoughts so far would be highly appreciated, and while I know that a lot of you think you know what Ginny's up to, that's not it ;P Stay tuned for more!**

 **Reviews are received with open arms as always! Constructive criticism and your thoughts, especially.**

 **Lots of love~**

 **Arty.**


	3. 3 Lies: The Family Trip

**Chapter 3**

 **The Family Trip**

* * *

 **[26 October 2011]**

 **8:08 AM**

"Have you got everything you need?"

"Yup."

"Did you pack your sweater? An extra pair of socks? Did you take the medicines I kept on the table?"

"Yes, yes, and yes. I'll only be a few hours away, Harry, I won't even need half these things," Ginny said, wrapping her hands around his neck and kissing him.

"Doesn't mean I shouldn't worry," he grumbled as he let her straighten his collar.

She smiled up at him and touched his nose with her finger. " _I'm_ the one who's supposed to be saying that. Are you sure you want to take the kids on a trip all on your own?"

"I'll be fine," he assured her as Ron's car pulled up in front of their house. "Besides, Hermione'll be coming along too."

"Yeah, I'm really glad that she was able to get the same week off as you. I'm so much more relaxed now that I know she'll be with you," Ginny said as she turned and waved at Hermione.

"Well, Ron only managed to get five tickets to the carnival and both Arthur and Molly wanted to go, so Hermione decided it'd do everyone a lot of good if she tagged along with the kids and me."

"And she was right."

"I was right about what?" Hermione asked as she approached, giving them each quick hugs.

"How do you know we were even talking about _you?"_ he asked, causing to raise her eyebrows at him.

Ginny laughed as her phone rang and she fumbled around with her bags as she looked for it. The second she saw who the caller was, though, the smile dropped off her face and she paled.

"Ginny?" he asked, but she held up a finger as she answered the call, moving away as Ron came up to them.

Ron pointed a thumb over his shoulder. "What's that all about?"

"'Dunno," Harry said moodily as Hermione whipped around, her mouth falling open.

" _Ron!_ You _cannot_ park on the street like that! Look at the mess you've caused!" she cried, waving her hand at the line of cars that were slowly coming to stop behind Ron's car—which was parked almost completely in the middle of the street—honking loudly.

"Oh, give me that." She snatched the keys from his hand and ran to the car.

They watched in amusement as Hermione apologised profusely to the other drivers, got in the car, and struggled to turn it into the gate because of how Ron had parked it. When she finally succeeded and stepped out, red in the face and wild-haired, she stomped up to them with a furious expression.

"Hey, the road's pretty narrow," Ron said immediately as his wife pointed an accusing finger at him.

"Ugh, Ron, you are _terrible!"_ Hermione said crossly, smacking him in the chest.

"Feisty, aren't you?" Ron laughed, rubbing his chest.

Harry tuned them out as Hermione started to yell at Ron, his focus returning to Ginny—who had now wandered to the gate, still on the phone, having what seemed like a furious exchange with the caller. He was dying to know whom she was speaking with, to the extent of wondering whether he still had any Extendible Ears left, but just then, Angelina drove up and honked, and Ginny got off the phone.

"All set?" Angelina called, and Ginny nodded as Ron stopped quarrelling with Hermione long enough to help Harry carry his sister's bags to the car. "Put them in the backseat, boys, the boot's full."

"Yes, ma'am," Ron said as he shoved the bags in, piling them one on top of the other.

"Where are the others?" Harry asked as he kissed Ginny goodbye and held the door open for her.

"Oh, we'll pick them up on the way," Angelina said offhandedly as she waved at them and revved the engine. "Well, see you in a week!"

"Have fun!" Hermione and Ron said, waving.

"Take care of yourself," he said to Ginny and she smiled up at him. Except… it felt like they were saying goodbye—for good.

Swallowing thickly, and mentally slapping himself for being so paranoid, he watched them drive away, a sense of foreboding settling in the pit of his stomach.

"Well, that just leaves you lot. Are the kids good to go?" Ron asked, hefting up his pants, much like his father did.

Harry continued to stare after the car till Hermione touched his arm and called his name.

"Harry?"

"Mate, you alright?"

He nodded and walked towards the house, running a hand through his short hair. It was so much easier to handle with it short, and he constantly wondered why he never bothered doing it before.

"Jamie! Al! Lily! Are you ready?" he called up the stairs.

There was a short silence followed by hurried shouts and excited shrieks, and lots of thudding and clattering. Sighing, he trudged up the stairs and walked into Albus's room.

All three kids looked up, pausing in their attempt to throw the things lying around back into their rucksacks. He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming along already.

"I thought we decided to _not_ unpack till we left the house?" he asked tiredly and James slammed down the lid of the single suitcase in the room, catching Albus's hand in between and causing the younger boy to scream.

"Alright," Harry said, placing the suitcase on the bed and patting Albus's head. "How 'bout we have a race?"

The kids stared up at him wide-eyed, Albus forgetting about his hand in his curiosity, and Harry couldn't help but smile. _I told you I could handle my own kids,_ he said to the Ginny in his head, scoffing when mental-Ginny rolled her eyes and shrugged.

"You have exactly five minutes to put all your things back, get your bags, and get into Uncle Ron's car." He checked his watch as three heads nodded vigorously, and gave them an approving smile. "OK, ready… set… go!"

Hermione came into the room just then and had to jump aside as the kids ran around, collecting all their toys and whatnot, stuffed it all into their rucksacks, and raced out the door.

"Careful down the stairs!" he called after them as he began picking up the clothes strewn around the room.

"Do you really want to do this? I mean, I'm not complaining or anything, obviously not, it's just—"

"It's just _what,_ Hermione?" he said tiredly, glaring at her.

He was already stressed out about the whole phone call from Angelina, and the phone call Ginny had just gotten, and the way he felt like their relationship was falling apart—not to mention that he now had to deal with his three kids on his own and had his nightmares as an added bonus. He loved Hermione, and she was a fantastic mother, but she wasn't Ginny. It wasn't a family trip without Ginny.

She gave him a sort of sad smile and shook her head. "No, you're right, my bad."

He sighed, too irritated to fold all the clothes, and magicked them into the suitcase. Picking it up, he walked past Hermione and strode down the stairs, swallowing thickly and willing himself to calm down. The day had barely begun, and he was already letting his insomnia get the better of him.

Placing the suitcase in the boot, he slammed it shut and turned around to face Hermione—who now had a worried frown on her face.

"Is everything alright? You're acting… odd."

"Yeah, everything's _fine,_ Hermione, and it'll be even better if you could just _stop_ mothering me!"

"Harry," she said softly, touching his arm. He looked away and ran a hand down his face, feeling another migraine settle around his temples. "I'm sorry."

He looked at Hermione and gave her a small smile. "No, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have yelled at you. It's just—I _really_ wanted this to work, you know? I've been feeling like Ginny and I… we're just drifting apart and I don't know _why._ I thought it was because of work and because I don't pay enough attention to them—"

"Oh, that's not true at all, Harry—"

"—and that's why I really wanted— _needed—_ this trip to happen." He shook his head. "I miss her, Hermione. And it's like I can't even reach her anymore."

Hermione shook her head, her eyes looking suspiciously moist. She pulled him into a hug and patted his back. He let her hug him because somehow it felt like she needed it more than he did. When they pulled away, she gave him a watery smile and with a "come on," walked to where Ron was.

As he came up to the front, a bit of an argument started between Hermione and Ron, with her insisting that she drive again and him questioning the exact necessity of him being there.

"I don't want there to be an accident, Ron! There are children in the car!"

"I'm perfectly capable of driving a stupid Muggle vehicle, Hermione!"

"You don't even have a licence! What if we get caught?"

"We won't!"

"Alright, I'm driving," Harry sighed, pushing past the squabbling duo and falling into the driver's seat. The two took one look at him and began arguing again. He bit back another sigh as James leaned forwards and poked him in the shoulder.

"Are we leaving yet?"

"Yes, we are. Hermione!" he yelled. Hermione stepped into the car and slammed the door shut with a huff. He stared at her and she bristled but rolled down the window anyway and had a hushed conversation with her husband.

"Are we good to go?" he asked when Ron moved away with a grumble.

"Yes, we are, Ron's just sulking that _you're_ driving _his_ car."

He scoffed at that. "Yeah, well, considering it's him, _everyone_ would drive his car before he did."

Hermione laughed, and, as he pulled the car out the gate, said, "Kids, say thanks to your Uncle Ron for giving us his car."

The kids promptly stuck their heads out and waved at Ron, thanking him. Ron beamed and stuck his chest out, looking important as he waved back.

"Lock the house behind you!" Harry called and Ron gave him a thumbs up, causing both him and Hermione to roll their eyes.

"Alright, you lot, off we go!" he said with a grin, the kids' infectious excitement temporarily causing him to forget his concerns.

"Yay!" came the rejoicing yells and he laughed as he revved the engine, and they took off.

* * *

 **[27 October 2011]**

 **3:28 PM**

He groaned as James threw a pail of sand onto Albus and Lily, causing the two to scream and start chucking sand at each other.

"Jamie, Al—"

"Oh, leave them be, Harry," Hermione admonished for the dozenth time that day. She walked up to where they were lounging under large beach umbrellas and handed him a paper cup full of a blue beverage. "Let the children be children."

"What the hell is this?" he asked, peering into the cup.

She shrugged. "I saw it on the menu and pointed at it."

He stared at her and she glanced sideways at him. "What?"

"You got it without even knowing what it was?" he asked incredulously as she took a large gulp.

"Oh, it's good! Tangy!" she exclaimed, licking her lips.

"Who are you and what have you done with Hermione?" He laughed as she gave him a wide, triumphant grin.

"I stowed her up in a corner of my brain and told her to stay there while _I_ had some well-deserved fun." She placed a pair of dark sunglasses on her nose. "Now, will you drink that and enjoy yourself or keep moping around for the rest of the trip?"

"I'm not moping." He took a tentative sip of his drink and hummed in appreciation. "Mm, this is actually really good!"

"Told you so."

He sat back and closed his eyes, breathing in and letting the lingering scent of the salty air and the sound of the ocean calm him.

His original plan had been to go camping, but Ginny had instantly opposed the idea with a very valid argument—the kids would _not_ enjoy spending an entire week in some isolated place with insects and mosquitos and no "fun food" as they called it.

So they had decided to come to Brighton and spend the week at a beachside hotel. When Ginny told the kids, they'd gotten so excited that Albus had woken them up in the middle of the night to ask them how many more days he had to wait to build sand castles.

The memory brought a smile to his face, but it also brought with it the thought that he was there, with the kids, but Ginny, whose idea it had been to come to the beach in the first place, was nowhere to be seen. He controlled his urge to sigh as he quickly dispelled the depressing thoughts that followed. They were there to have fun, with or without Ginny, and that was what he was going to do even if he had to force himself to do it.

"They seem like they're enjoying themselves."

He opened his eyes and watched as James held Albus and Lily's hands as they splashed around in the water, the older boy instructing the younger two to not get water in their eyes. He sighed contentedly and watched as Lily and Albus ran up to Hermione, demanding their floaties.

"Don't go too deep, OK?" Hermione handed them the blown up floaties and they ran back to James, yelling excitedly.

"So how come Ron only got five tickets?" Harry suddenly asked since he'd been wondering about that for a while.

"Oh, he didn't. He got six."

He stared at her, and she looked up and gave him a confused smile. "What?"

His heart started to race as he sat up and turned towards her. "But I thought you didn't go because you didn't have enough tickets!"

She frowned. "No," she said slowly, pulling a book out of her bag. "Who told you that?"

He opened his mouth and then shut it as a particular conversation regarding why Hermione was accompanying him and the kids flashed through his mind.

 _Ginny._

"I just assumed… since you're here," he said awkwardly when she continued to look at him. "You didn't have to come, you know, I'd have been fine on my own."

"Don't be silly, Harry, of course I wanted to come. There's no way I would refuse when Ginny asked me, now, would I?"

Catching his breath, he stared unseeingly at the cover of her book and said, "Ginny asked you to go with me?"

"Yeah."

"When?"

"When? I don't know, maybe a week ago?"

 _A week ago? She hadn't even told me she wasn't going, then!_

"Why?"

She turned to him and pulled off her sunglasses, her brown eyes swimming with worry. "Harry, is there something I should know?"

He almost told her, for a second there, about everything, but something stopped him and he shook his head, forcing a smile onto his face. "No, there isn't. I'm just being my usual paranoid self. Anyway, I'm going to go make sure the kids haven't caught a starfish and made it their pet or something…"

She caught his arm before he could walk away and gave him a searching look. "How are the nightmares?"

"Oh, they're doing just fine. Rather peachy, to be honest."

"Harry…"

"Hermione, everything is absolutely wonderful, and besides, weren't you the one that said we shouldn't think about depressing things and have fun?"

She finally let go, nodding rather grudgingly. "Yeah, you're right. Now go have some fun."

"I will." He smiled at her and jogged towards where the kids were, allowing his minds to sort through yet another fragment of information that added on to the list of unanswered questions he already had.

Why had Ginny asked Hermione to go with him and the kids even before she had said anything to him about not going?

It didn't make sense. He had known that there was something she was worrying about and that she didn't seem too excited about the trip, rather suddenly, too, since she was the one who'd chosen the place and the hotel and everything, but it didn't make sense.

Why had she hidden the fact that she wasn't going to go from him? Alright, sure, he had gotten upset when she had told him, but he had known that she didn't want to go anyway—and that's what didn't make sense to him. _Why_ would someone who seemed to think something was an excellent idea suddenly back out? And why would she go through the extra measure of asking Hermione to _not_ go with her family in order to come with him?

He could take care of the kids by himself just fine. There had been absolutely no reason for Ginny to go out of her way to ask Hermione to cancel on a trip with _her_ family just to babysit _his._

And, this was what was bothering him the most—why had she _lied_ to him about the tickets? It was such a stupid thing to do and seemed rather pointless. Had she not wanted him to feel guilty that Hermione was giving up on quality time with her family in order to replace Ginny?

 _It doesn't even matter because now I know anyway and I feel even worse._

He didn't understand why Hermione had just so readily upped and decided to go with him. She had _never_ done that before, not even during the times Ginny had been away on her reporting gigs when the kids were younger. She'd come and help, but never substitute for Ginny.

He sighed. There was something going on that he didn't know about and he had a feeling that both Angelina _and_ Hermione were in on it. He massaged his temples, cursing his sleeplessness and his nightmares for turning him into a paranoid wreck.

Lily ran up to him just then, breaking his train of thought, and showed him a shell she'd found. He smiled as he told her it was pretty, making a mental note to ask Ginny what the hell she was up to once and for all as soon as they were home.

He'd rather be hurt by the truth than suffer in silence from all the lies.

* * *

 **[28 October 2011]**

 **8:47 AM**

Yawning, he walked out on to the balcony to find Hermione already there, a book in hand and a focused expression on her face.

"What's the point of going away from home if you're going to do the same things you always do?" he asked her as he sat down across from her and picked up a cup of coffee.

"The point is that I'm doing the same things I always do in a place that's not home," she answered instantly, barely pausing in her reading.

"Makes no sense to me," he said, pointing his wand at the cup and murmuring a warming spell. "Where're the kids?"

She stretched her arm out and pointed directly below the balcony, her eyes moving back and forth as she continued to read. He leaned over and spotted the trio in a small space between the bushes, building what looked like a small kingdom, moats and all.

He watched Albus make a flag with leaves and hand it over to Lily, who promptly broke it. "Did they eat their breakfast yet?"

"They did, or at least I think they did—I had to Scour the balcony because it looked like a war had happened here."

"I don't know if I should laugh at that or not," he said with a grin and she finally looked up from her book.

"Oh, Harry, I didn't mean—"

"I was _joking,_ Hermione. Besides, I haven't been getting nightmares since I got here—which is honestly surprising because I never got to catch a break at home."

"See, aren't you glad you didn't cancel this trip?"

He shrugged, sipping on his coffee. "I was never really going to cancel it because I'd booked the rooms and everything." A sudden thought occurred to him and he asked, "Wait is _that_ why you're here? Because I'd booked a room for five?"

She glanced up and gave him a weird look that oddly made him feel like she was trying not to tell him something. "Yes."

"Oh."

"Were you expecting me to say something else?"

"Honestly? Yeah."

She sighed and put her book down, and he instantly rose to his feet, gulping down the burning coffee and setting the cup on the table. "Well, I best go and check in on the kids."

"Harry!"

He walked away, but not fast enough, because he heard her say, "Running away isn't going to solve anything!"

Sighing, he made his way to where the kids were, trying to argue with himself that he wasn't running away. He'd just panicked. Hermione's expression had been serious and he'd reacted before he'd even thought about it—and he was regretting it already. This may have been his only chance to find out some part of the truth and he just _had_ to be an idiot and jump the gun—as always.

"Good morning!" he said brightly as he approached the bushes where the kids were. "Looks like we're up bright and early and building a kingdom."

"It's called Lilalbames Land!" Lily announced, waving a twig.

"That sounds great, what does it mean?" he asked, squatting down and inspecting this grand kingdom of theirs.

"Lily—Albus—James!" Lily said, pointing to herself, Albus and James.

"Wow! Sounds difficult—who came up with it?"

"I did!" Lily instantly said and Albus smacked her on the bottom.

"No, I did!"

"We _all_ did," James said, deciding to be the diplomatic older brother for once.

"You guys are pretty organised for a bunch of troublemakers who played around with their breakfast," Harry said, looking from one guilty face to the other.

"James started it!" Albus said, and Lily nodded vigorously.

"I did not! _Lily_ started it!"

"Don't blame Lily!" Albus said.

"Yeah, don't blame Lily!" Lily joined in, sticking her tongue out at James, who instantly reached out and grabbed her tongue with his muddy hand, causing her to splutter and spit all over the place.

"Daddy!"

"Alright, alright, let's not get too excited. How about you tell me who all live in this kingdom of yours," he said, picking up a leaf-flag and sticking it on one of the mounds.

"Well, all of us live in the castle, of course," James said, motioning to what was apparently the castle, with a flourish. "And Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione and Rosie and Hugo live here," he continued, pointing to a smaller mound. "And Gran'pa and Gram'ma live here," he pointed to a third mound, "and everyone else lives all over here," he finished, motioning to all the different sized mounds.

"So we live in the castle?" he asked, and the trio nodded.

"Yeah, you and me and Lily and Al and—"

"Mummy!" Lily cried happily, cutting James off.

"That's great," he said, but Lily stood up and started bouncing on the spot.

"Mummy!"

"Lily, you know Mummy isn't here—"

"Surprise!"

He jerked backwards and had to throw his arm out to steady himself as the kids exclaimed happily and threw themselves at Ginny.

"Hi sweethearts!" she laughed, kissing them on their heads. "Here, I've brought you all something."

She held out three large shells. James immediately grabbed a red, jagged, spiralled one and went, "This one's mine!"

"And this one's yours," Ginny said as she gave a glossy pink spiral shell to Lily—who grabbed it and held it up against the light, squinting through it. "And this one's Al's," Ginny finished, handing a smaller, deep green conch shell to Albus.

Albus had a crest-fallen expression on his face and Ginny instantly held the shell up and said, "Look, it's the same colour as your eyes!"

"I want one like that!" James said, and Albus immediately perked up.

"Well you can't have this one, it's _mine,"_ he declared, cradling the shell to his chest.

"Alright boys, no fighting," Ginny said as she walked around them to where he was standing.

"Hi," she said, a tentative smile one her face.

"Hey," he replied, raising his eyebrows at her.

"You seem surprised."

"I am! Didn't expect you to show up," he said, still stunned by the sudden turn of events.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him long and slow, and when she pulled back, her eyes looked suspiciously moist.

"I love you," she whispered. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him, momentarily forgetting that he was supposed to be mad at her.

"I know," he said softly as she ran her hands through his hair. "But no more surprises for a while, OK?"

"OK."

He smiled as he kissed her softly, ignoring the retching and gagging sounds James and Albus were making.

"Oh, you made it!"

They pulled apart as Hermione walked towards them, a huge grin on her face. "I almost thought you wouldn't show!"

"I would never put you through that," Ginny said as they hugged.

"Oh, good, because Ron's already called me seven times and left me ten messages and if I don't leave now, I'm going to be facing more than just creepy clowns."

"Thanks again," Ginny said as Hermione waved a pouch.

"For you, anytime," she replied as she opened the pouch. "Well, I managed to connect the fireplace in the office to the Burrow, so I'll be off, then."

She hugged him, and he held her for a moment longer, raising his brows and giving her a questioning look. Hermione glanced towards Ginny and the kids and then gave him a look that said, "I'll explain later." He nodded and let her go, stepping back as she hugged the kids quickly and bustled away, looking immensely relieved.

He turned to see Ginny and the kids dancing around in a circle and watched them for a long moment, his mind whirring, but when Lily called to him, he grinned and joined in. So had he really just been paranoid about the whole thing? Had this surprise been what Ginny and Hermione had been hiding from him all along? There were still things Ginny had to explain, like why she'd lied about the tickets or why she hadn't just come clean to Harry about everything, but that was a matter for later, he decided, because he'd finally gotten what he'd wanted—all of his family together. Maybe this trip wasn't a complete waste after all.

* * *

 **[30 October 2011]**

 **10: 39 PM**

"They're sleeping so soundly," Ginny said with a smile as she eyed the three kids sprawled across the backseat.

"Yeah, they must've been exhausted with the amount of frolicking they did."

"They seem to have had fun."

"We all did."

She kissed him on the cheek and he smiled at her before turning back to the road. "I'm glad you could make it."

"Not gladder than I am," she said with a sigh and he sensed that something was wrong.

"Did the party not go well?" he asked and she shook her head.

"No, the party went fine, it's just—I don't know, I guess I should've just come clean about what I planned on doing from the beginning."

He had a feeling she wasn't really talking about the surprise, but he didn't push it. After a time, though, he asked, "Why were you so nervous about the whole thing?"

"Oh, come on, Harry, you know why! You were looking forward to this trip so much and I just didn't have the heart to tell you!"

"But you told Hermione."

"Because I needed her to make sure that you would go on this trip and that you wouldn't sit around and wallow in self-pity or whatever all day long."

"Is that why you lied about the tickets?"

When she didn't answer right away, he glanced towards her and saw that she had a pained expression on her face. He felt his chest clench, but he was determined to know the answer and suppressed his guilt.

"I didn't _lie—"_

"You told me Ron had five tickets when he had six."

"No," she said slowly, pulling her feet up on the seat. "I told you he was _using_ five tickets. You just assumed he only had five."

"And you decided to just let me keep assuming that?"

"Harry," she sighed, giving him a pleading look. "Can we just forget about that? Didn't we have fun these past three days?"

"Yeah, we did," he admitted, although he didn't really feel like letting it go. He still didn't know why exactly she'd lied about it. "But I want to make sure that there isn't something you're keeping from me, Ginny."

She seemed startled by that, for some reason, but composed herself before he could question it. She opened her mouth, made to say something, and then shut it, looking conflicted.

"Is there? Something that you aren't telling me?" he asked again.

She sighed, long and deep, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Looking away from him, she said, "George and the kids had planned this whole thing for Angie, so he wanted me to convince her to go on a trip for her birthday so they could surprise her."

 _That answers the question of Angelina's phone call and why Ginny'd lied to her. But that doesn't tell me why she lied to_ me.

"So why didn't you tell me?" he asked, and she rolled her eyes at him.

"Because you're the absolute _worst_ when it comes to surprises, why do you think?"

He pursed his lips at that, but couldn't disagree. This wasn't the first time that he'd been left out of a surprise, after all, and he was sure Ron hadn't a clue about it either.

"I never meant to stay for a whole week, anyway," she began before he could say anything. "I was only going to go with her till George and the kids arrived for the surprise and leave the day after. But I thought it'd be fun to surprise you and the kids too, so I thought why not, and asked Hermione to help."

"So Hermione knew about Angie's surprise?"

Ginny shook her head. "No, she just knew about me coming back early, so she only agreed since I promised her she wouldn't have to miss out on going to the carnival. Ron was a right git about the whole thing, though."

"Because you didn't tell him, I'm sure," he said in Ron's defence, but Ginny shot him a look. "Right, well, why'd you lie about the tickets?"

She groaned and buried her head in her knees. "Harry, please don't let's ruin this by talking about a stupid mistake that I made. OK?"

He stared ahead, biting his tongue, but she'd explained to him what had actually happened, so he decided that he could let it go—for now. She ran her hand through his hair and he nodded. "OK."

"I love you, Harry. I love all of you."

"Yeah. Me too."

But there was still that nagging feeling at the back of his mind that just wouldn't go away no matter what he did.

* * *

 **A/n: Sorry for the late update? I've been busy as hell!**

 **Anyway, a huge huge _huge_ thanks to lokilette for beta-ing this chapter for me, it really gave me quite a bit of trouble and she helped tremendously. Be sure to check out her profile!**

 **Well, this seems like one problem solved between Harry and Ginny, but who knows what'll happen next [except me, of course]? At least the kids got to have fun.**

 **Review and let me know what you thought! You know how I feed on reviews, being the ravenous beast that I am *maniacal laughter***

 **Stay tuned for more!**

 **P.S. some of you were curious about why I chose to have the dates and times, and to be honest, they were initially meant for me to keep track of things, but I decided to keep them in because, although it does break the flow, it's necessary, since the dates and times aren't always evenly spaced, as you probably noticed in this chapter. Sorry if it's bothersome, I'mma keep them in anyway!**

 **Lots of love~**

 **Arty.**


	4. 4 Lies: Memories of the War

**Warning: Certain content in this chapter may be triggering to certain individuals. Read at your own discretion.**

* * *

 **Chapter 4**

 **Memories of The War**

* * *

 **[31 October 2011]**

 _It was raining._

 _He was standing under a bare tree, its charred branches bowing from the force of the downpour. Wisps of hot breath escaped his gritted teeth as he stood shivering, soaked to the bone. His knees creaked every time he tried to move and his arms were plastered around himself as he tried to preserve whatever warmth was left in his body._

 _The rain fell in sheets, razor-sharp needles falling from heaven and piercing the earth. He could barely see for a few feet around him, his rain-splattered glasses further reducing visibility, and he ached to find shelter and warmth, but something was keeping him there. He didn't know what, but it was as though some powerful force was bearing down on him._

 _He didn't know for how long he stood under the dead tree, but it didn't matter because the rain had already frozen him from the inside out. His senses were numb from the frigid temperature and the relentless downpour, ruthlessly eating away at whatever little willpower he had left._

 _Wishing to escape the merciless torture, he peeled his arms away from around himself. He trembled uncontrollably as he patted himself down, looking for his wand, or a matchbox, or something that would allow him respite from the ceaseless rain._

 _All he found was a shard of a mirror and he stared at it, the reflection of his emerald eye looking lifeless and grey. He wondered if he could use it to escape his unending agony. Holding his arm out, he slowly drew the edge across his forearm, watching as beads of crimson appeared on his pale skin, only to be dashed away by the rain._

 _He watched as every time his blood managed to seep out of the cut, it was wiped clean by the rain. Soon, the gash had sealed itself shut, and, as he watched, veins of black twisted outwards from the closed wound. He would have been startled, or at least unnerved, if he weren't so numb._

 _The veins began to form a recognisable pattern, and once they stopped moving under his skin, he was able to identify the mark engraved into his arm._

 _It was the Dark Mark. The mark of Voldemort's loyal supporters. The mark of the Death Eaters._

 _The next thing he knew, the sound of the rain had been replaced by incessant screaming._

* * *

 **2:34 AM**

"—arry! Harry! Wake up!"

He gasped and turned over, falling off the bed and lying sprawled on the floor. He shuddered, eyes tearing up as his heart beat rapidly in his chest. There was scrambling and Ginny's arms were around him, helping him up.

"Harry, Harry." She was saying his name, but he could barely hear her over the ringing in his ears.

"Ginny," he choked, and she gasped as she hugged him, whimpering softly into his shoulder.

He held her, staring straight ahead, alarmed and confused. The remnants of his nightmare were slowly leaving his exhausted mind, but he could still feel an itching on his arm where he had dreamt the Dark Mark had been. He wanted to check his arm to make sure it wasn't still there and slowly pushed Ginny off of him.

She helped him to his feet and got on to the bed. Looking up at him with worried eyes, she asked, "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. Why are you asking?"

Her gaze fell to his arm and she swallowed. "You were groaning and sighing, and I wondered what was wrong when I found that you'd scratched the skin off your arm."

He raised his arm and looked at it, and just as Ginny had said, his skin was raw and bleeding, confirming the itch he had felt before.

"Was it another nightmare?" she asked softly as he continued to stare at the wound.

"No, I think I got bitten by something at the beach. It's been bothering me for a while now but I assumed it was sunburn. I should probably go see a Healer first thing in the morning."

"Harry…" He looked up at her, and she shook her head. "You can tell me, you know, if they're back—"

"They're not," he snapped and bit back a sigh when she flinched.

"OK, but I'm just saying—"

"Gin, it's late. Can we have this conversation some other time? I'm really exhausted and I have an early day at work."

She nodded after a long moment and got under the blankets. He forced a smile on to his face as he kissed her forehead and turned away, staring at his arm. It itched and he wanted to pick at it, but he knew that would only make things worse so he continued to stare at it till the first rays of sunrise spilled through the gap in the drapes.

* * *

 **7:19 AM**

Ginny had apparently decided that after the previous night's events, she was going to have to be overly bright and happy in order to make up for his sullenness and irritability. He appreciated the effort, really, but if she made one more remark on what a beautiful day it was, he was going to lose it.

"Daddy, bow me?" Lily came up to him and turned around, holding out the satin ties of her dress. He tied them together in a neat, big bow and, when she hugged him, kissed her hair.

He had just turned back to his large mug of coffee when James and Albus burst into the room, covered in dirt.

"Boys!" Ginny scolded, hurrying towards them and pushing them back out the way they had come in. "What have I said about cleaning up before coming in to the living room?"

"But Mum, we _need_ to show this to Dad!" James said, leaning around Ginny and beckoning to Lily.

"Absolutely not. You're going to get into the bath and _then_ we can talk about why you're covered in mud first thing in the morning."

Just before Ginny ushered them away, James managed to toss a small bundle into the room and Lily caught it deftly, making Harry raise his eyebrows. _I see she's got her mum's skills,_ he thought as she ran towards him, holding out whatever it was that James had been desperate to show him.

"What's that?" he asked as he bit into a muffin.

"'Dunno," she said innocently, and he Levitated the bundle on to the table, unwilling to get dirt on his hands.

Lily placed her hands on the edge of the table and got on tiptoe, eyeing the bundle curiously. "What is it?" she asked, fidgeting when he didn't seem like he would open it any time soon.

"'Dunno," he replied, and she shot him a look. Hiding a smile, he reached over and ruffled her hair, instantly causing her to shriek and slap his hand away.

"Mummy!" she screamed, running out of the room. "Daddy ruined my hair! Fix it!"

Chuckling to himself, he finished his muffin and downed the last of the coffee. He could hear Lily shrieking as she ran up the stairs and Ginny's voice as she tried to placate the girl. He reached forwards, gingerly opening up the tattered piece of cloth the object was wrapped in. Curious, he peered at what looked like old pictures, now faded and torn.

He stared at the picture on the top of the pile idly, wondering where he had seen it before. Flipping it over, he read the familiar, narrow scrawl, his mind taking a moment to catch up with what he was seeing.

 _Neville Longbottom, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood and Ginny Weasley—the war has ended and we are alive._

He sat up suddenly, his eyes narrowing as he picked the picture up. Flipping it over, he eyed the solemn faces of six exhausted and wounded teenagers as they stood on a destroyed bridge with Hogwarts at their backs. He ran a hand down his face and through his hair, his skin breaking out in goose flesh.

"What the bloody hell…"

Ginny walked in just then and broke into a smile as she made her way over to him. He plucked the bundle off the table, cloth and all, intending to hide it, but he hadn't noticed the small pouch that had been part of the bundle and watched as Ginny picked it up and eyed it curiously.

"What's this?"

"The boys found it in the garden, I'm not sure what it is, yet," he said quickly, making to grab the pouch from her hand.

But she was too quick for him and dodged out of reach, holding the pouch at arm's length. "Well, let's find out, then."

"No, Ginny—" he started but she had already untied the pouch and held it upside down, watching as several objects fell out of the small cloth bag.

They stared at the objects, Harry's heart in his mouth, and Ginny let out a soft gasp. "Harry… is this…"

He placed the pictures down beside the trinkets from the war and Ginny stared at them wide-eyed.

"Why in heavens were these buried in our garden?" she asked breathlessly, her hand hovering over the pictures as though she was too afraid to touch them.

He reached over and pulled her close as the memory of him burying a bundle that looked almost exactly like the one before them flashed through his mind. "I probably buried it when we first bought the house or something," he said quietly, not really ready to confess his actions till he could remember them better.

She gave him a weird look and asked, "Why the hell did you _bury_ it?"

He sighed in frustration and shrugged. "I probably didn't want to burn them or something so I must've buried it with the intention of finding them some day when I was ready."

"Oh, Harry," she said, her eyes full of pity, and he instantly felt a fire light up in the pit of his stomach.

 _This_ was probably the reason why he'd buried it. Because he hadn't wanted someone else to find these pictures and other mementos from the war and look at him with those eyes full of pity. He _loathed_ the idea of people thinking he was pitiful and needed help. He always had and always would. _And Hermione still wonders why the hell I haven't told Ginny that my nightmares are back._

"I think I'm going to take these to my study," he said crisply, gathering everything up and striding out of the room before Ginny could stop him. Not that she would've, he was sure after that look of pity she thought he needed time to recuperate from the shock or whatever.

Taking the stairs two at a time, he all but ran to his study, nearly slamming the door behind him in his hurry to examine the bundle. He made sure to lock the door and clear his desk before gingerly placing the objects down on it. Unfolding the dirty cloth, he spread all its contents out so he could examine each separately.

He arranged the pictures in a neat pile and the objects from the pouch in three rows. Making sure not to touch any of them, his heart thrumming with anticipation, he took a moment to close his eyes and take a deep breath before he started.

Once he was reasonably sure that he wouldn't be shocked sick by what he found on further inspection, he slowly picked up the picture below the one he'd already seen.

It was a photo of him and Hagrid, their arms around each other—or rather, him trying to not be crushed under Hagrid's weight—the half-giant bawling his eyes out. He turned the picture around and read the message Hargrid had written in his narrow handwriting.

 _Harry—the Boy Who Lived again and again. The little lad I watched grow into a fine young man with me own eyes. Never thought I'd get to see you again, after that—but here you are and here I am, and no matter what, Harry, here is where I'm always gonna be._

He swallowed thickly, his eyes burning. He remembered what these pictures were. He remembered how he'd found Colin's body with the rest of the dead and how his little brother Dennis had begged Harry to take Colin's Polaroid. He'd relented when the boy had said Harry had always been his big brother's idol and he would've wanted Harry to have his camera.

Deciding that he was going to do Colin justice, he'd taken it upon himself to go around taking pictures with as many people as he could, in an attempt to lighten the heavy air of doom that had fallen over Hogwarts just after the war had ended. He'd gotten everyone to sign the pictures, to leave a message on the back of them. At the time, it had just been a spur of the moment thing, something he had done out of desperation, and everyone had just gone along with it.

But now… although everyone was attempting to smile in the pictures, it physically pained him to see how hard they were trying to get over what had just happened. It had been painful, the war, more so for those who hadn't fought in it and for the survivors because of how many casualties the wizarding world had sustained from it. It was painful.

He sniffed as he put the picture down and picked up the next one. This one was of him with his arms around George and Percy's shoulders—and they looked devastated. Percy was at least attempting to smile, although he looked extremely uncomfortable, but George was just staring off to the side, like he didn't even realise someone was taking a picture of him.

Placing the photo on the table, he stared at it unseeingly, barely noticing the tears falling down his face. He was too afraid to flip it over. He was too afraid to see what message was written on the back.

 _You chose not to burn them, Harry, so man up and do what you set out to do._

Inhaling deeply, he braced himself, and before he could wimp out again, turned the picture over. He read the lines very fast, and then, realising nothing had gone into his head, reread them more slowly. Percy's message was very formal, to the point, and short.

 _Harry, good luck. Thank you._

He remembered feeling confused about why exactly Percy was thanking him, and reading this so many years later, he felt the same way. If anything, Percy should've blamed him for what had happened, not thanked him. Rubbing his eyes, he slowly moved down to George's message. He remembered asking George to write it and then almost forcing him to write something when he refused to. He wanted to punch himself for that, now.

George's message was longer, but was more of a punch in the stomach than he had wanted. It read—

 _I finally know what it feels like, mate. You've been so brave, Harry, and I don't think anyone's ever thanked you for that. Well, I don't think I'm the one that's going to do it, but Fred probably would've. Too bad he's not here, eh?_

He groaned, wiping away the tears furiously as he held his head in his hands, wishing, for the millionth time, that he could just _Obliviate_ himself.

It took him a long time to be able to move on to the next picture. He steeled himself as he picked it up. It was a picture of him and a group of students from various Houses. They were all laughing as they picked him up and threw him into the air. Behind the photo were signatures from all the students with good luck wishes and the like.

The next few pictures were more of the same—him with different groups of people: some students, some from the Order, some professors, some Aurors, some younger students. There was one picture of him and McGonagall and he couldn't help but smile at the triumphant look on her face as she laughed and patted him on the back.

He flipped it around, eager to read the message, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of pride as he read it.

 _I have known you since you were but a babe, I have watched you grow, and I have never been prouder to know such a brilliant, brave and kind young man. Your courage has moved thousands of hearts since even before you've known, and it has continued to move thousands more every single day. May you continue to move hearts, may you continue to be brave, and may you continue to make me proud._

 _With immense love and blessings,_

 _Minerva McGonagall._

 _P.S. I pray that, for once in your bloody life, Potter, you stay out of trouble. But not for too long, I daresay that would do the world more harm than good._

He laughed as he read the postscript, deciding to ignore his tears because they didn't seem to want to go away any time soon.

Placing the photo back with a grin, he picked the next one up.

* * *

 **9:23 AM**

By the time he had gotten through the entire pile, he had cried enough for the past decade, and he was completely exhausted. He eyed the last picture that was left, groaning as he picked it up. His eyes widened as he saw it, though, and his heart thudded in his chest.

It was a picture of him with Draco and Narcissa Malfoy.

He frowned, trying to remember when this picture was taken. By the time the camera had run out of magical paper, he had frankly been overjoyed that he could stop, much too exhausted to bother with anything else, but he still remembered every single photo he had taken—except this one, apparently.

Humming thoughtfully, he stared at the picture, cringing at how rigid both Malfoys were, his own smile looking painfully fake in contrast to their expressionless faces. He flipped the picture over, curious to see what was written, and was disappointed that there was no message. He was just about to put it back in the pile when something caught his eye.

At the very bottom, almost swallowed up by the frayed edges, was a single, incomplete sentence in slanted, elegant handwriting. He assumed it was Narcissa's, but only when he saw Malfoy's name did he realise it wasn't. Curious, he squinted as he tried to decipher the faded writing.

It took him a while to manage to read what was written, and when he did, it made him roll his eyes. He couldn't make out a lot of the words because they were too small and were half gone because of how close to the edge they'd been written. It said something along the lines of a life debt having to be repaid and ended with best wishes, probably, but a lot of the sentence wasn't legible so he couldn't be sure. It sounded just like Malfoy—holding on to a life debt or something of the like even though they'd reached the point where such things were so trivial in comparison to everything else.

Shrugging, he placed the picture back and then turned to the objects he had lined up.

They consisted of trinkets, memorabilia, keepsakes, and other odd pieces of junk that he was sure he'd only kept because of their sentimental value. He picked up a mirror shard and instantly recognised it as being part of the mirror Sirius had given him. Dispelling thoughts related to Sirius, he kept the shard aside and turned to the other things.

There was a broken quill that he was sure was the one he had used through his years at Hogwarts; an odd-looking pair of spectacles that he instantly recognised as having belonged to Luna; there was Neville's Remembrall, which he honestly didn't know why he had—he was guessing Neville had forgotten about it; there was an empty vial with remnants of golden liquid that he reckoned must've contained Felix Felicis; the snitch Dumbledore had left him and a spiral stone he guessed he must've picked up from the Pumpkin Patch outside Hagrid's hut; a weird fragment of coloured glass and a torn piece of parchment with printed words on it that he didn't recognis;, there was a whole pile of newspaper cut-outs from The Daily Prophet; a round, green badge with _Potter Stinks_ written on it, and a whole bunch of other stuff he recognised and those that he didn't.

Sighing, he took a moment to inspect each object and then put them all back into the pouch—that now, when he looked at carefully, he recognised as being one that Hermione had enchanted to hold countless things—just like the drawstring bag she had. He tied it up and placed it beside the pictures. Deciding that the cloth was too dirty to use, he discarded it and locked the pouch and pictures away in his desk drawer, deciding to think about what he would do with them later.

For now, he wanted to take a much needed—and definitely well deserved—nap.

* * *

 _He was standing in the middle of a very familiar courtyard, rubble and debris scattered all around him. There was a sudden rumbling and he only just managed to jump out of the way as a huge chunk of rubble crashed down. The rumbling continued and he looked up to see pieces of debris raining down on him._

 _Yelling, he ran for cover, but despite how far he ran, he never seemed to get anywhere. The huge chunks of stone and broken pillars continued to crash to the ground, with him barely managing to escape every time._

 _He kept running and running and running and the debris kept falling and falling and falling. Finally, he heard the loud toll of a bell. He counted how many times it rang—one, two, three… eight, nine, ten… fourteen, fifteen, sixteen… twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four…_

 _Frowning, he dodged around a beam as it fell in his path, wondering how many times the bell would toll. Every time he thought the sound got distant, the next time it would ring louder._

 _He kept running, not feeling exhausted in the least, although he felt like something was about to happen. Just as the thought crossed his mind, a huge chunk of wall fell right in front of him. He stopped in his tracks, staring at it, and a door materialised in the middle. Curious, he walked towards it and pushed it open._

 _The moment he stepped through the doorway, the wall and the courtyard were gone, replaced by a forest, the fires from all around lighting up the night. He could hear people screaming, but he couldn't see anybody, and he made his way around the fires, wondering where he was._

 _A loud scream pierced the night and he automatically ran towards the sound, his heart pounding against his ribs. He was sweating from the heat of the fires but he continued to run. A sudden burst of orange flames appeared before him and he turned left as the screaming continued._

 _He kept running, trying not to get burnt by the lashing tongues of fire, intent on saving whoever was screaming. He finally stopped when he spotted a person crouching on the ground, trembling and whimpering. Slowly walking towards whoever it was, he reached over and laid a hand on the person's shoulder._

 _A platinum-blond head whipped around and stared at him wide-eyed, his expression fearful and the reflection of the flames dancing in his silver eyes._

" _Malfoy?" he asked incredulously, his voice sounding oddly like that of a young boy._

 _Malfoy, who was also much younger, opened his mouth and spoke in a ghostly whisper._

" _You chose to save the life of a person who's given you nothing but misery from the very start. You came back even though the others didn't want to. You gave me the chance to choose between fear and courage. And I choose to stand up and fight."_

 _He stared, unsure of what the blond was talking about, but the fire was raging and the bell was tolling—they didn't have much longer. If they didn't go now, they would die. He tried to pull Malfoy up but the fellow was adamant about remaining there._

" _Save those who need saving. You've already saved me, now go to the others."_

 _He didn't understand, but there was no time. Malfoy refused to move and he could hear other people screaming. There was a burst of fire from the side and he jumped out of the way—except he was the only one. He watched as the burning beam fell on top of Malfoy and even as he shouted out, the fire engulfed the blond and there was nothing he could do._

 _People were screaming. The bell was tolling. Time was ticking._

 _There was nothing he could do but leave. Even as he turned around and started running, he could hear Malfoy's voice echoing in his head._

" _There are people who aren't worth saving, but such people are the ones that will never forget the second chance they were given."_

* * *

 **10:30 AM**

He woke up feeling like he'd forgotten something, except he wasn't sure what. He'd fallen asleep on the sofa in his study again, and he smacked his lips as his stomach grumbled. Groaning, he pushed himself up and stood, yawning and scratching his head. He unlocked the door, quickly cleaning himself up with his wand and scolding himself for making it a habit.

Making his way downstairs, he paused as he listened to Ginny's voice coming from the living room. He could hear the kids playing outside, so he wondered who she was talking to. Stifling a yawn, he trudged inside, grumbling about his need for another mug of coffee.

Ginny looked over her shoulder, her back to him, as he came to sit at the counter.

"What've you got there?" he asked when he heard the rather familiar high-pitched twittering.

Ginny turned sideways to reveal Pigwidgeon, and it became very clear as to why the—still-tiny—owl wasn't creating utter havoc. It was too busy munching on the snacks Ginny was holding out for it.

She handed him a letter and he unfurled it quickly, scanning the contents. He raised his eyebrows when he saw who the addressee was, rereading the short letter to see if there was anything specific he should have noticed.

"Who's it from?" she asked, stroking the owl and smiling as it tittered happily.

"Neville," he murmured, propping his chin atop his hand and scanning the letter for the third time.

"Really? That's surprising. We haven't heard from him in quite a while. What does it say?"

"He wants to meet with me," he replied, eyeing the time and date. "Today. Now."

" _Now?_ " Ginny asked with surprise. "Don't you have to go to work?"

He shrugged and Summoned his self-inking quill. "I'll send a letter to Buxley and tell him I'll be late. It's going to be more paperwork for me, anyway."

Ginny hummed and stepped forwards, peering at the letter, but he quickly wiped it clean with his wand and picked up the quill as it fluttered down on to the counter.

"How come he sent the letter with Pig?" he asked as he wrote a quick letter to his deputy.

"Oh, Hannah sent Angie some really nice wine when we were away and Angie wanted to send a thank you note back."

"What happened to Perseus?" he asked, signing the letter.

Ginny rolled her eyed and crossed her arms. "George probably sent that bloody bird off to some obscure location to procure illegal ingredients, no doubt."

Harry grinned as he neatly tore the parchment in half and wrote a second letter addressed to Neville. "Sounds about right."

"Can you _believe_ George sent Percy a huge package of Wheezes and a lengthy letter introducing him to his _namesake?"_ Ginny huffed. She'd been very protective of Percy ever since the war, and they'd grown awfully close since he got married, especially after Molly and Lucy came along.

He laughed and Ginny smacked his arm. "Don't laugh. iIt isn't funny! Poor Percy got so upset about the fact that George considered the owl _his_ namesake instead of the other way around."

He threw his head back and guffawed as Ginny fumed.

"How can I not laugh? That's bloody brilliant!" he said as she shot him a withering look.

"You're terrible, _all_ of you," she sniffed as he signed off the second letter, still chuckling.

He rolled the parchment up and gave them to Ginny to tie to Pig's talons. Somehow, the obnoxious bird hadn't quite taken a liking to him yet. It adored Ginny, though, and seemed oddly possessive of her. He made a face at Pig when it stared at him and could've sworn it had an evil glint in its eye as it took off.

"That bird is out to get me, I'm telling you," he remarked when it disappeared out the window.

"Stop bullying Pig!" came Ginny's instant retort and he rolled his eyes. "If you don't like him, get an owl of your own."

She seemed to realise her mistake as soon as the words left her mouth, but the damage had already been done. She blustered and went red in the face but he pursed his lips and stood, nodding curtly.

"Well, I suppose it's about time I got changed, then."

"Harry—"

"I'll make sure to buy Pig a larger pack of owl snacks next time," he called over his shoulder as he exited the living room, leaving Ginny with a dumbfounded look on her face.

 _Now to see what Neville's up to…_

* * *

 **A/n: So did all of you cry? Well I did too, while writing this, so we're even. This chapter is definitely one of my favourites so far, so I want to know what you guys thought of it. Don't worry about leaving too many reviews because there is no such thing as _too many reviews._ *hints***

 **Siriusly though, let me know what you thought!**

 **Also, I have another Drarry one-shot with similar concepts that has the same title as this chapter. It's called Yours, Mine, and Ours (Memories of the War) if any of you are interested!**

 **Lots of love,**

 **Arty~**


	5. 5 Lies: Careful Manipulation

**Disclaimer: If some characters come off as OOC, it was either intended to be that way or just turned out that way. I've written each character to the best of my abilities, but any suggestions regarding their characterisation would be gladly welcomed.**

* * *

 **Chapter 5**

 **Careful Manipulation**

* * *

 **[31 October 2011]**

 **12:09 PM**

He ducked into the Leaky Cauldron just as the rain started to come down hard. Taking off his coat and ruffling his wet hair, he scanned the crowded pub, trying to find Neville.

"Harry? Oh, you're here already!"

He turned to see Hannah bustle over. She wiped her hands on her brightly-coloured apron as she stopped before him, a wide smile on her face.

"Hi, Hannah," he said, hugging her lightly and smiling down at her.

Hannah Abbott—now Longbottom—hadn't changed a bit since their time at school—or, at least, of what little he had known of her back then. She'd put on a bit of weight, though, since he last saw her. She still was just as bright and happy as he remembered her to be, and he'd always thought she did Neville a lot of good—especially after him and Luna decided to part ways after coming to the conclusion that they wanted very different things.

That relationship was one no one had really understood—not even the two in it, apparently—but they'd parted ways rather amicably. Luna now had twin boys and was happily frolicking around the world in her search for exotic, mythical creatures. Nobody had even known that Luna had gotten married till she randomly invited them all to a party at her house one day and introduced her husband, Rolf, to them. Once she announced that he was a Magizoologist and Newt Scamander's grandson, though, nobody was really all that surprised.

They were a match made in heaven, and that was all there was to be said about it.

"Neville's back there," Hannah was saying as she led him to the back of the pub. "I told him to take you upstairs, but he was oddly adamant about seeing you here."

She smiled up at him, and he thanked her, watching her bustle away before turning to eye the far table. Neville was sitting there, barely discernable from the shadows, drinking what looked to be much too strong a drink for that time of day. Harry walked over and stood right in front of the table before Neville noticed him.

"Harry! You made it!" he said, standing up and pulling Harry into a hug.

"Good to see you too, Neville." Neville motioned for him to take a seat. "So, I got your letter," he said rather stupidly when Neville continued to stare at him with a dazed look on his face.

"Oh. Oh, yes, my letter, right. Almost forgot about that," Neville blabbered, pouring a rather large amount of Firewhiskey into his mug.

"You seem to be starting your day on an awfully strong note," he commented as Neville took several gulps before putting down his drink with a grimace.

"Yeah, once I started I just couldn't stop," Neville replied, looking rather guilty.

Harry leaned forwards in his seat and laid his arms atop the table, giving Neville a long, searching look. "What happened?"

The Herbologist sighed, fumbled around for a moment, seemed like he wanted to say something, and then slumped back in his seat.

"Neville," Harry prompted again and Neville sighed once more before looking up.

"You probably know by now," he said, a haunted look in his dark eyes.

"Know about what?" Harry's mind was already whirring through worst-case scenarios.

"It's this weekend." Neville seemed to struggle for a bit, as though he couldn't say whatever he wanted to. "His release."

"Whose—"

"Rabastan Lestrange."

It took Harry about ten seconds to put two and two together. And when he did, a sense of exhaustion settled over him and he fell back in his seat.

"Rodolphus Lestrange's brother?" he asked quietly.

Neville looked around, and, after a moment's hesitation, mumbled a quiet _Muffliato._

"Yeah, the same," he finally said, shifting forwards in his seat. "I'm sure you've heard the rumours of Rodolphus Lestrange begging for the Kiss just a few months after his imprisonment, right? Said he couldn't bear any more nightmares of his wife being tortured. Said he was done."

Harry nodded. He'd been one of the few who had offered to file all the details regarding the remaining Death Eaters after the war. He hadn't really believed Lestrange's reason and had wanted to find out more, but no one seemed to care one way or another, so the topic was dropped.

"Yeah, I know," he said when Neville seemed like he was still waiting for an answer.

"Well, the brother mustn't have been too happy about it," Neville mumbled, reaching for the Firewhiskey.

Harry grabbed it first and placed it on the ground beside his feet. "Everyone knows Rabastan Lestrange was far less dangerous than his brother—especially after those first fourteen years."

Neville nodded and stared at the table for a long minute. "I went to see him," he murmured almost inaudibly and Harry hissed, a surge of anger shooting through him as he leaned forwards and slammed his palm down on the table.

Neville flinched, but Harry's ears were ringing, and his heart was racing. He barely noticed. "Of all the _mental—"_

"I know," Neville immediately said, holding up his hands. "You're right, it was an extremely stupid thing to do."

"I swear, Neville, it's a good thing I have self control or you'd have my fist in your face right now."

Neville jerked back, alarmed, and frowned. "Mate, relax, what's wrong with you?"

Harry ground his teeth together as he tried to breathe, and then, reaching down, picked the bottle up and took a swig.

"Sorry, I haven't been getting much sleep lately," he grunted and Neville's frown deepened.

"They're back, aren't they?" he finally asked, a knowing look in his eyes. "Your nightmares, they're back."

For a second Harry thought of lying, but he immediately decided against it. If there was anyone he could talk to about his nightmares, it was Neville.

"Yeah… they weren't very bad at first, just passing nightmares, but they've been getting very vivid, and very real, of late. Almost like they're visions." He shuddered at the thought, absentmindedly touching his scar.

"Harry," Neville said, reaching forwards and touching his arm. "He's dead. Voldemort is dead. You killed him."

"Yeah. Yeah, I know that but…"

He sighed tiredly, rubbing his face with his hands. His hour-long nap hadn't helped in any way. In fact, he was more exhausted after it than he had been that morning.

"I know. I used to get themm too. Still do, but they aren't nearly as bad."

He looked up at the earnest expression on Neville's face and then swallowed thickly, taking another gulp of the Firewhiskey.

" _Used_ to?" he asked finally and Neville nodded.

"Yeah. It got really bad at one pointm and Gran demanded that I either go see a Mind Healer or have her dose my food and drink with dreamless sleep potions," Neville said with a wry smile.

Harry scoffed and then sighed. "Who did you go see? And how come this is the first time I'm hearing about this?"

Neville shrugged. "I didn't want anyone to know."

"Oh, come on, mate, whether you wanted people to know or not is besides the point. Being a war hero, if you'd even taken a single step in the direction of St Mungo's, it'd be all over the papers."

Neville snorted at that and nodded. "Which is why I didn't go to the healers in St Mungo's."

Harry stared at him, waiting for an explanation, and when he gave Neville a pointed look, the latter only shrugged.

"I can't reveal the name of my healer, Harry, that takes away the whole purpose of it. Besides, the agency I chose to go to have a very strict confidentiality policy. They'll know if I've disclosed the name of one of their people."

"OK," Harry said slowly, licking his lips. "Can you tell me the name of this agency at least?"

Neville gave him a patient look and then said, "Only if you've decided to go to them for sure."

Harry threw up his hands, slumping back in his seat. "And you honestly expect me to just take your word for it?"

Neville shrugged. "That's what I did."

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, well, we'll talk about _me_ later, I'm more concerned about _you_. You still haven't gotten to the reason why you wanted to meet with me, let alone the reason why you went to Azkaban to see Lestrange."

Neville made a face. "I was hoping you'd forgotten that."

"Sorrym mate, your tactic of changing topic worked surprisingly well, but I'm Head Auror. It's the least I should be able to do."

Neville half-smiled at that and nodded. "Well, when I heard about his release… I had this sudden urge to go talk to him."

"You don't say," Harry said sarcastically and Neville pulled a face.

"It was very safe. I basically had a whole platoon escort me to and fro. It was rather stressful, to be honest."

Harry gave him an incredulous look. "Trained Aurors stress you out while you're completely fine having a tea party with dangerous prisoners?"

"Harry, give me a break already, I said I'm sorry!"

He relaxed, grinning as he said, "Nope, that's the first time I'm hearing it."

"You're horrible," Neville grumbled and Harry laughed.

"I've been hearing that an awful lot, lately. So, what did the two of you chat about?"

" _Chat_ is hardly the word I'd use… it was mostly me trying to make polite conversation while he sat and stared at the wall."

Neville sighed. "It was pointless, me going there. All that came out of it was me visiting my healer every day for the past week and trying not to break things."

"Well, that's a lesson learnt. So… did you call me here so you could be mental again and ask me to get you into Azkaban on the day of Lestrange's release?"

Neville smiled sheepishly and Harry rolled his eyes. "Seriously, Neville."

"He has nobody left—"

"So _you_ have to go? And do what? I swear, if this is some grand plan that your healer put you up to…"

"It's not," Neville said a little too quickly. "It's not." He sighed. "I just—it's just… I don't know. I still go visit my parents and watch them flounder around as they unsuccessfully try to grasp at reality and I just… I just wanted to see it with my own eyes. I just want it to be over, Harry, all this pain and suffering… I just want it to end."

Neville's voice had gotten extremely quiet by the end of his little speech and he looked exhausted. "And for the record, my healer knows nothing about this," he added and Harry shook his head.

He felt a surge of emotion and gulped a little more Firewhiskey before nodding. "Yeah, alright, I'll see what I can do."

Neville stared at him, a dumbfounded expression on his face, and Harry smirked. "But, on the condition that I babysit you—me and a whole _platoon_ of Aurors."

Neville scrunched up his nose but nodded anyway. "Fair enough."

"Well, this was an enlightening conversation, and as much as I would like to stay and chat—" he tapped his watch, "—duty calls."

"Right, of course. Sorry that I had you take time off work."

"Actually, Neville, I'd prefer if you'd pop in every once in awhile. Just so the rest of us know you're alive and well. Hannah's been complaining that you've been refusing to come home during the holidays."

Neville looked bewildered and Harry couldn't help but grin. "Not to _me,_ of course."

"Harry!"

"But it seems it's true," he added, clapping Neville on the shoulder. "Don't be a stranger, Neville," he said seriously.

The corners of Neville's eyes crinkled as he smiled and nodded, pulling Harry into a rough hug. "Yeah, thanks mate."

"Any time."

"Oh, and Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Antares."

"What?"

"The agency I told you about, it's called Antares. Be sure to use an alias when you first start the correspondence."

Harry grinned at Neville and nodded. Making his way to the door, he waved at Hannah, and exited the pub.

* * *

 **3:45 PM**

"Well, well, look who's finally decided to grace us with his presence."

He looked up from the file cabinet and instantly broke into a grin, moving around his desk as Kingsley walked into Harry's office.

"I should be the one saying that," he said as they shook hands. "What brings you to my neck of the woods?"

"There was talk of a certain Head Auror coming back from his week-long vacation. I thought I would drop by and find out the truth for myself."

He raised his eyebrows as he motioned for Kingsley to take a seat. "Well, I'm honoured to have the Minister himself drop in to check on me."

"Ah, well, we've known each other since before I was Minister and you were Head Auror, and not once have you suddenly taken an entire week off so suddenly," Kingsley replied, easing into a chair. He had a glint in his eye that Harry recognised all too well.

He perched on the corner of his desk and shrugged. When Kingsley continued to watch him expectantly, he bit back a sigh and said, "I just thought it was time I took the family out on a well-deserved vacation."

Kingsley nodded thoughtfully and then smiled, his gold-capped molars glittering. "Yes, yes, and how did that turn out?"

"Quite good, actually. Thank you for asking."

Kingsley nodded some more and Harry shifted, feeling like Kingsley was there for more than he was letting on. Deciding to breach the topic skilfully, he walked to the coffee machine Hermione had got him when he'd first moved into his office. It truly had saved him more than once.

"Can I tempt you with a cup?" he asked as he poured himself a mug.

"Oh, yes, you can, but that doesn't mean I have to be tempted," came Kingsley's diplomatic reply and Harry grinned.

"I see they did well choosing you as Minister," Harry said, raising his mug in toast and placing a cup in front of Kingsley as he went around to sit in his chair. "So, do you think now would be a good time to tell me why you're _really_ here, or do we finish our coffee first?"

Kingsley eyed him and then nodded. "Straight to the point as always, I see."

"Well, when you hold the post I do, even the slightest bit of dilly-dallying can be fatal," he responded just as evenly, sipping on his cup.

"Fair enough." Kingsley reached for his cup, decided against it, and then continued. "Well, I suppose you should know—"

"About Rabastan Lestrange's release? Yes, I got the order the day it was delivered," he lied easily. He hadn't gotten the court order, and, if Kingsley reacted in the way he expected, he was about to find out why. Not only had his earlier conversation with Neville been highly enlightening, he now knew that, as he had anticipated, his week-long vacation had done more damage than good.

Kingsley sighed and seemed to deflate slightly. Harry flicked his wand and shut the door, muttering a quiet Imperturbable Charm as an after-thought.

"If you're here asking if I intend to head the security detail during his transfer, I'm going to tell you that I'm doing it irrespective of whether you want me to or not."

Kingsley's head shot up, and he knew it was because of his tone of voice, but he continued to hold steady eye contact. If there was one thing he'd learnt from working with Kingsley in such closed quarters for all these years, it was that the wizard greatly trusted those who stood up to him to a certain level and held their own ground. As intimidating as Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt was, Harry still knew that the wizard depended on a lot of people to help him hold the fort.

"Harry, this isn't your decision to make." Kingsley's voice was strained, and Harry sat up, knowing the conversation may just have taken a turn for the worst.

"Actually, I would like to argue that it is. I _am_ Head Auror, and as Head of the Auror department, I would think it my duty to make sure that one of Voldemort's most loyal Death Eaters' release and transfer happens seamlessly and according to protocol. I would rather be there than not be there. The last thing we need is for a Death Eater on the loose."

" _Former_ Death Eater," Kingsley snapped, his eyes blazing. "And it's the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's decision as to who will or will not head the security force."

Harry bit back a sigh and tried to relax his features as he asked, "So what can I do for you then, Minister?"

"I'm asking you not to go to the DMLE demanding that you be put on top of this," Kingsley said in the same strained voice, and Harry knew that one wrong step and their relationship may very well turn sour.

"I'm afraid to say that you wasted your time, coming all the way here, Minister," he said quietly and Kingsley seemed to expand.

"Are you telling me you already went to the DMLE?"

"I told you, Kingsley, I got the order when it was first delivered—"

"Has anyone told you you're a terrible liar?" Kingsley cut in, standing up and starting to pace.

He sighed. _Well, at least I tried._

"On that note, can I ask _why_ I didn't get the order? I'm assuming there was some mistake with the paperwork—"

"There was no mistake," Kingsley said crisply, rounding on Harry. "I specifically told the DMLE to keep the release a secret. So I want to know how is it that you managed to find out about a highly classified transfer that no one except me, the Head of the DMLE, and the Head Warden knew about."

 _Shit. Damnit, Neville._

"What I don't understand," Harry said, trying to look as unfazed as possible, although his heart was beating faster by the minute, "is why you thought it necessary to keep something this important from me."

"Remind me again who up and disappeared on vacation," Kingsley said and Harry nodded.

"You're right, and I'm sorry. That was unprecedented and I should've informed—"

"No, Harry, that's not my point. My point is that if I were to have told you about this release, you wouldn't have taken that vacation, and trust me when I say _everyone_ needed you to take the week off. Your constant jittering and hyperventilating was driving the whole department mad."

He flushed, but tried to bring the topic back on track. "Well, now I know and I'm going to be leading the security unit."

Kingsley shook his head. "There's no need for that. Robards has already got it covered."

His eyebrows shot up at the mention of the previous Head Auror. "Robards? What the hell does Robards have to do with anything?"

When Kingley gave him a pointed look, his jaw dropped. " _Robards_ replaced Gumboil as Head of the Undercover Hit-Wizard Unit? And when exactly were you planning on notifying me about this?"

"The promotion was very recent—"

"How recent?"

"Two days ago."

Harry dropped his head and nodded. "While I was on vacation, of course. It almost feels like you _chose_ that one week I was away to finish off all the important stuff."

"Harry." Kingsley stopped his pacing to come back and sit in the chair. "You know that not everyone is very happy with you becoming Head Auror."

"I'm sorry, I thought we'd gone over this countless times already—"

"Which is exactly _why_ I'm here."

He stifled the urge to bang his head against the desk. If there was another thing he'd learnt from working with Kingsley for so long, it was that the man liked playing mind games. It made sense, why he did it, but that didn't make the process any more pleasant. In fact, he hated it when Kingsley found a constant need to beat around the bush before telling him exactly what he came to see him for.

"Right, and what is that, exactly?" he asked as he breathed deeply and tried to calm his racing heart. Only Kingsley could affect him like this every single time he wanted to and he _still_ let the provocations get to him despite knowing they were meant to disgruntle him.

"Robards already knows what a good Auror you are and that you deserved the post of Head Auror," Kinsley began, standing up and recommencing his pacing. "But the problem was that once you got promoted and Robards stepped down, he no longer held the authority for recommendation."

He groaned, massaging his temples. Of _course_ Robards' promotion had been mostly political in nature. It didn't make any sense for the man to just up and decide to take up a promotion when he'd just decided to retire.

"So you decided to offer him a promotion exactly when I decided to take a break from work," he said tiredly, trying to massage away the oncoming migraine—with no luck.

"It had more to do with convenience than anything else, but it helped prove that you had no hand in his promotion. Everyone knows what a good rapport you two have built, and it's usually at the Head Auror's recommendation that they choose the Chief of the Undercover Unit."

"But how did you convince them that I had no say in the matter?"

Kingsley shrugged a shoulder, the corner of his mouth twitching in a way that showed he was trying very hard not to smirk. "That you did all on your own. All I had to say was, 'Have you met Harry Potter? There's not a chance he'd be on vacation if he was involved in this,' and everyone believed us in no time."

He rolled his eyes, opening his mouth to retort when he suddenly realised something. "Wait, so how exactly did Neville know about all of this?"

"Who do you think told him about the release?"

 _And of course Neville's involved in this. I swear, I don't know why I'm still surprised at this point. I'll bet Neville doesn't even know that I was in the dark about it all._

"I'm guessing you felt obligated to tell him, considering Lestrange was one of the four Death Eaters that put Alice and Frank Longbottom permanently in St Mungo's?"

Kingsley nodded sadly. "That and the fact that he played a pivotal role in ending the war as well as being a part of the Auror Department until very recently."

He bowed his head. "Well, that was nice of you."

"Oh no, I was one of the few that was initially opposed to telling him," Kingsley admitted. "And for good reason, too, he couldn't even keep it confidential, as it's supposed to be, long enough for me to tell you about the release." He shook his head and returned to his seat, but chose to stand beside it instead of sit.

 _And I'm the one that's jittery._

"Well, either way, we seem to be derailing from the main point—are you going to stop me from heading the security unit or are you going to support my decision?" Harry asked, clasping his hands together on top of the desk.

"Oh, I absolutely do not support your decision, let me make that very clear," Kingsley said with the same familiar glint in his eye. "But I don't intend to stop you, either. Robards has been assigned to handle the whole operation and he shall recommend you to be placed at the top of it, so till then, sit tight and don't jump the gun."

"So basically you're telling me not to let the higher ups in the DMLE know that you concocted an outrageous plan so that I could be placed as Head of the security detail and you could prove that you were better than them?" Harry asked, the disbelief clear in his voice.

"Let's just say that things worked out for the best." Kingsley nodded in a way that said the matter was closed, but added, "And also so you can smuggle Neville in without getting kicked off the force." He gave Harry a knowing look. "Nobody needed to be able to read his mind to know that he wanted to be there."

Harry sighed and stood up, coming to stand beside his desk. His insomnia was acting up again and he was feeling exhausted now that his adrenaline rush had passed.

"Sometimes I wished you'd just quit with the mind games," he said tiredly and Kingsley chortled.

"Where's the fun in that?" he asked with a wry smile. "Well, I've stayed far too long—I'll have Robards contact you directly regarding the transfer."

"Right, then," Harry said, moving to the door. "Thanks, Kingsley," he said just before the man stepped out was clapped on the shoulder.

Harry was grateful for Kingsley's help, even if sometimes the man went overboard with it. He oftentimes felt like Kingsley used him as an excuse to show people he didn't like who ran the place.

"Give Neville my regards, and tell him not to—how do I put it— _duke it out_ with Lestrange and blow his carefully set up cover," Kingsley called over his shoulder, and Harry grinned as he walked back to his desk.

He sat down and wondered if he'd be able to catch some quick shut-eye when Buxley rushed inside, a pile of boxes in his hands.

"More paperwork?" he sighed. He groaned at Buxley's muffled affirmation and grumbled, "Become Head Auror, they said. It'll be everything you've ever dreamed of, they said."

"Who did?" Buxley asked, and Harry pointed at half the boxes.

"I'm sure most of these can be taken care of by you, Buxley, wouldn't you agree?"

Buxley went red in the face, picked up the boxes, and stalked out, grumbling the whole time.

"What can I say?" he murmured as he dipped his quill in ink. "Misery loves company."

* * *

 **A/n: Well, this was a rather short, but necessary, chapter and the beginning of a new arc. Stay tuned for more and thank you for all the follows, favourites and reviews!**

 **Opinions and thoughts and concrit will always be highly appreciated, so feel free to leave a review!**

 **Lots of love~**

 **Arty.**


	6. 6 Lies: Slow Progression

**Chapter 6**

 **Slow Progression**

* * *

 **[2 November 2011]**

 **7:00 AM**

He groaned as one of the kids jumped on him, effectively breaking sleep's spell. His instant reaction was to lash out at whoever it was.

"Stop it!"

Albus froze, his eyes going wide. He looked frightened, and Harry instantly felt terrible.

"Hey, Al, sorry. C'mere." He held out his hand and Albus hesitated for a moment before slowly taking it and cuddled up against him.

"What time is it?" he asked groggily, too lazy to find his watch, and Albus checked his naked wrist.

After much deliberation, the boy said, "It's time to wake up."

Harry chuckled and nuzzled Albus's hair, wrapping his arms around him. "How can I wake up when I've got such a cute cuddle buddy?"

"I'm not cute!" Albus retorted, struggling to get out of Harry's hold.

"I think you are," he murmured as his son struggled some more, feeling his mind slip towards unconsciousness. Now, if only Albus would stop moving…

"Girls are cute! I'm a _boy,"_ Albus yelled right in Harry's ear and he groaned, rolling off Albus and pulling the blankets over his head.

"Dad, wake up! Wake up!"

"Go away, Al," he moaned as Albus straddled him.

"No! You have to go to work!"

"Don't you have better things to do than wake me up?" he groused as his son started bouncing up and down.

"Mummy said to wake you up! Wake up!"

He tried to pretend like Albus wasn't jumping on top of him and screaming for all of twenty seconds before deciding that waking up was a better form of torture.

"Alright," he said as he bundled Albus in the blankets and picked him up. "It's time for little Mister Sunshine to go away and let Daddy wake up."

He deposited Albus—blankets and all—outside the door, and, while the five-year-old tried to extricate himself from the bundle, trudged into the bathroom. He was quick with his morning routine, as usual, and stepped under the shower, groaning as the hot water burned his skin.

Letting his chin fall against his chest, he sighed as the scalding water ran down his neck and back, enjoying the way his tense muscles slowly relaxed under its burning touch. He stood under the shower till Albus and Lily started banging on the door and screaming. Muttering to himself about kids and unlimited energy and the unfairness of it all, he wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped out.

Lily and Albus immediately shrieked and took off, and he rolled his eyes as he walked to the wardrobe.

"What's with all the hyperactivity so early in the morning?"

He turned to kiss Ginny as she hugged him, and he expected her to move away, considering he was still dripping wet, but she continued to cling on to him. He frowned.

"Gin? Is everything alright?"

She didn't answer for a long moment and finally raised her head and kissed him. "Everything's fine," she said softly, and he suddenly noticed the bags under her eyes. Somehow, he hadn't noticed them before.

"Have you been sleeping alright lately?" he asked, turning towards her, and she nodded, looking wary.

"Yeah, why?"

He shook his head and motioned to the bags under her eyes. "Doesn't seem like it."

"Yes, well, not all of us can sleep as soundly as you."

He raised his eyebrows at the snarky reply, and she sighed, massaging her temples. "Sorry, I just… I guess it's the stress of the tournament getting to me."

"Oh, yeah, it starts this weekend, right? Who's playing first?"

"The Magpies and the Wasps," she replied, moving away and flopping on to the bed. "I'm going to have to leave on Friday if I plan on going as part of the Harpies' press team."

"Why're you going as part of the Harpies?" he asked as he dried his hair.

She waved her hand vaguely and said, "It'll be easier to travel that way, plus I'll get better access to the other teams."

"And the Harpies' manager's OK with that?"

"Why wouldn't she be? I was a Harpy before. She's _more_ than thrilled to have me on board. Won't shut up about me being a part of the team again."

He looked towards her when she stood up with an agitated sigh. "Ginny, you don't have to go if—"

"Don't start with that, Harry. You know I have to work."

"All I'm saying is—"

"Well, _don't_ say it!"

He held his up his hands, and she threw her arms out in frustration before walking away. He sighed as he pulled on his clothes, feeling the beginning of a headache. Rummaging inside the cupboard, he pulled out a half-empty bottle of Firewhiskey and took long gulps, revelling at the feel of the burning trail as it slid smoothly down his throat. Who cared about drinking alcohol in the morning? If he was going to have to deal with bipolar-Ginny, hyperactive kids, Kingsley's mind games and everything else, he was going to need more than just a simple energising draught.

* * *

 **9:33 AM**

"You look awful."

"Why, thank you, Hermione, that's exactly what I needed to hear right now," he grumbled as she fell into step beside him.

"Good, because you're not going to want hear what I say next."

He glanced sideways at her and she ignored his look by pretending like she was focusing on the clipboard in her hand.

"Don't say controversial things and just pretend like you never said them." He sighed as he entered the Auror office and tried to greet everyone as cheerfully as possible.

"So you want me to announce sensitive information to the whole Ministry? That can be arranged."

"Don't give me cheek, Hermione, I'm really in no mood for it," he snapped as he strode into his office.

"That makes the two of us," she replied in the exact same tone of voice as she slammed the door shut and crossed her arms. "So when exactly were you going to tell me about Lestrange?"

He swore loudly and flicked his wand, casting an Imperturbable Charm on the door. "Try and be a little louder, why don't you," he snapped as he flopped down in his chair.

She strode up to his desk and placing her hands on top of it, leaned forwards, a warning look in her eyes. "Don't start with me, Harry—"

"I only found out two days ago myself, Hermione, and in case you've forgotten—which I don't think is possible considering _you're_ the one that said it—it's _sensitive information._ If I could go around talking about it, I would've."

He thought she'd give a smart-mouthed reply to his outburst, but she only stood back with a frown and crossed her arms.

"You found out only two days ago? How come? Who told you?"

"Neville," he sighed, massaging his temples. He regretted finishing that entire bottle of Firewhiskey now. He was already starting to feel sick.

" _Neville?_ How in the world does _Neville_ know?"

"Ask Kingsley," he snapped, and she glared at him. "Look, I'm not at liberty to say, alright? So can you stop badgering me about it and just—I don't know, find out some other way?"

She cocked an eyebrow. "So you don't care if I find out, you just don't want me to find out from _you."_

"Yes. Thank you for getting it so quickly. Now, can you leave so that I can—"

"Of course not."

He groaned loudly and sprawled across the desk, revelling at the feel of the cool glass top against his throbbing forehead.

Hermione was silent for a time. "You look ill."

"Yes. Thanks. Please go away, now?"

"Did your nightmares get worse?"

He sat back faster than he intended to and slapped a hand to his mouth as he felt the bile rush to his throat. Unable to swallow it down, he turned to the side and threw up all over the floor and his shoes.

Hermione was by his side in an instant with a glass of water and a wet towel. She Scoured the vomit on the ground and his shoes and wiped his mouth with the towel.

"Here," she said softly, helping him lean back and gulp down the water. "Do you want some more?"

He nodded and she hastened away, returning with more water and another wet towel. She helped him drink the water and placed the towel over his eyes, slowly massaging his forehead.

He groaned, and she shushed him as she continued with her ministrations. After about ten minutes, she went away, and when he thought she wouldn't return, she bustled back in.

"Harry, here, drink this," she said, pressing something cool to his lips. He swallowed the bittersweet liquid that filled his mouth and sighed, relaxing.

"Here, let's go to the sofa."

He stood up and let her help him to the sofa, feeling drowsy and like his head was full of cotton. She helped him out of his coat and tie, undid the first few buttons of his shirt, and helped him take off his belt and shoes. He lowered himself on to the sofa and fell back against the satin cushions, sighing at the feel of the cool material.

He heard her move around and felt something else press against his lips. When she instructed him to drink, he did, instantly feeling the heaviness that came with the Potion for Dreamless sleep. He managed to mumble an incoherant thank you before the heavy hand of sleep pulled him into the much welcome world of unconsciousness.

* * *

 _He was falling._

 _There was nothing around him expect blackness. The only light came from a tiny pinprick high above him. He didn't know how far away the light was, but he stretched his arms out and made a grab at it. Finding that the light was farther than he had anticipated, he breathed out slowly, letting the air leave his lungs and fill him with a sense of extreme calmness._

 _Was this a nightmare?_

 _If it was, if was nothing at all like the ones he'd had before._

 _He continued to fall, the wind gently caressing the back of his neck and ruffling his hair. He felt weightless and light, and he thoroughly enjoyed the sense of nothingness that engulfed him. He was falling through space and time, through black, emptiness, and he'd never felt so at peace in his entire life._

 _It was almost like he was dead._

 _Just as the thought crossed his mind, his body jolted to a stop, and he hung in the air, nothing holding him from above or supporting him from below. If he willed it, he could continue to fall, but something was telling him he shouldn't._

 _He stretched a hand towards the light again, staring at it through hooded eyes, and wondered if he could reach it if he tried hard enough. He wondered what was beyond the light, and if he wanted to know._

 _Was it a world beyond the mortal form? A world beyond life and death?_

 _The light expanded with his thoughts, and he felt a gentle—but insistent—tugging in his chest as the pinprick slowly grew and dispelled the darkness._

 _Why? He didn't want it to go away. He liked it there, in the nothingness. He didn't want to start feeling again. He didn't want to start living again._

 _Why?_

" _It's time to wake up, sweetheart," an oddly familiar voice whispered, and he felt like he should listen to it._

 _He closed his eyes as the light engulfed him in its warmth, dispelling the peace and serenity of the darkness and replacing it with energy and life._

 _He was alive again. But he missed the nothingness._

* * *

 **12:35 PM**

When he woke up, he felt much more refreshed and well rested than he had in a very long time. He sighed happily and rolled off the sofa, pulling on his glasses as he buttoned up his shirt. Deciding that he felt better without his coat and tie, he made his way to his desk—only to find Hermione fast asleep in his chair, mouth open and head lolling to the side.

He smiled as he watched her sleep for a moment, wondering if he should wake her up. She looked exhausted almost all the time lately, and he knew that she was working five times as hard as usual, considering her goal was to get promoted into the DMLE. Checking his watch, he exclaimed in surprise and carefully shook her awake.

"Hermione, wake up," he whispered. She stirred and mumbled for a moment before blinking and looking around blearily.

"What, Harry? Where am I? What time is it?"

"Half past twelve. We've been asleep for a good two and a half hours."

She frowned as his words slowly sunk in, and then bolted out of the chair, nearly falling over in the process.

"Half past—oh _no!_ I have so much paperwork due in an hour!" she wailed, picking up her coat and trying to redo her extremely messy hair.

"Stop staring and help," she snapped, and he shrugged, looking around for her shoes and Summoning them to her. "Oh, this is the worst," she moaned as she put them on, unsuccessfully coiling her hair into a bun. "Oh, for the love of—"

"Hermione," he said, holding her by the arms and dragging her over to the chair on the other side of his desk. "Sit down, take a deep breath, and let me make you some coffee."

She scowled up at him and he gave her an innocent smile. "So why is it that _you_ , who was just puking his guts out and passed out on the sofa, are all bright and fresh, while _I_ , who took care of you and cleaned up after you, am getting mothered right now?"

"Because I puked my guts out and passed out while you cleaned up after me," he said with a grin, dodging out of the way as she kicked at him.

He walked over to the coffee machine and poured the decoction into two mugs, heating them up with a quick spell and adding a dash of milk to them. Taking the mugs over to where Hermione was grumbling away, he placed hers on the desk and Summoned the box of croissants he'd brought from home because he'd left before breakfast.

"Here." He placed two croissants on a napkin in front of her and bit back a smile as she glowered at them. She then grumbled an angry Summoning Spell and he moved out of the way just as a small container of jam came zooming towards the desk and skittered to a stop.

"Hermione, relax, for Merlin's sake," he said as he scribbled on a memo and carefully folded it into an airplane. Once he was satisfied with it, he let it flutter for a bit as he opened the door and watched it zoom off.

"I'm _completely_ relaxed," she muttered around a large piece of croissant as she picked up her coffee.

"Also, maybe slow down a bit? Your paperwork's not going anywhere," he said as he came to flop down in his chair.

"Exactly! And it needs to be going places, and so do I, so if you'll excuse me—"

"You wanted to see me, boss?"

He looked up and grinned as Buxley poked his head into the office. "Yes, Buxley, there's something I need you to do."

"Well, I'll be off, then," Hermione said with a sigh and stood up.

"If you could have Gonsales from the Beast Division lend a hand to Mrs Weasley—"

"Harry!"

"—I'm sure we could work something out about that whole box of complaints we received against him."

"Right away, boss."

Hermione was staring at him with a slack-jawed expression, and he leaned back in his chair, unable the wipe the grin off his face.

"What?" he asked as she went red and stormed up to him.

"I _cannot_ believe—"

"Hermione, I'm doing everybody a favour, alright? We all know the DMLE's been eyeing you to take up one of their vacant posts for _ages_ now, and the faster you finish up all of your—" he waved his hand, "—paperwork, the faster you can give up that uncomfortable chair of yours and get the nice, plush one. Plus, you've been covering for Gonsales for years now, so I only think it fair that he helps you this one time. "

She pursed her lips. "I don't just want to fill a vacant post, and I most definitely don't want this promotion for the _chair—_ "

"Of course you don't, I'm only joking."

She made a frustrated noise that sounded oddly like an angry Crookshanks, but before she could pounce, a memo flew in and settled atop his desk. He opened it, scanned the contents, and handed it over to Hermione with a grin.

"Would you look at that, it seems Gonsales is more than happy to help you out."

She frowned at the memo for a long moment and then sighed. "I feel like I'm cheating."

"Well," he said as he ushered her out, "I'd rather you _feel_ like you're cheating than actually cheat."

"That makes no—"

"Papers are due in an hour, remember?" he reminded her and she gasped as her eyes went comically round.

"I'll see you for a late lunch!" he called after her as she dashed down the corridor, nearly upsetting one of the large potted plants as she zoomed around a corner.

He chuckled to himself as he walked back into the office, grinning at everybody and throwing around compliments as he made it back to his desk. Looks like downing all of that Firewhiskey hadn't been such a bad decision after all.

Now, all that was left to do was to get his work done so he didn't have to stay past midnight…

* * *

 _Staring around, he briefly wondered where he was. He seemed to be standing in the middle of an empty corridor that looked oddly familiar, except he didn't know why. He began walking down it, taking in the stone walls and the empty lamp brackets. He suddenly found himself at a dead end and blinked, staring at the blank wall._

 _Reaching up slowly, he laid his palm against it. The rough stone was cool against his burning palm, and it placated him. He looked around, wondering what to do next, when he felt the stone vibrate. A soft rumbling began and slowly grew louder. He tried to pull his palm away, but it was stuck to the wall._

 _Panicking, he fumbled around, looking for his wand, but all he found was a rusty pocketknife. Unsure of what exactly he was supposed to do with it, he started jabbing at the wall, hoping that he could break away the stone and pull his hand free._

" _Oh, don't be silly, Harry, you can't break the wall."_

 _He whipped around at the familiar, silky, snakelike voice, but there was nobody there but him. He tried to pull his hand away but couldn't. The rumbling had grown much stronger, and dust was falling from the ceiling. He coughed as he struggled, wondering what to do._

" _Nothing to do but cut your hand off, I suppose."_

 _This time, a mousy voice spoke, and he yelled out, calling for help, but the rumbling drowned his voice._

" _No need to cut your hand off, you know the password."_

 _He gritted his teeth and pushed against the wall, but although the stones around him seemed to be falling apart, the wall before him seemed sturdy and unbreakable._

" _Cut it off, quick, before your only way of escape is gone!"_

 _He whipped around as a loud crash sounded—a part of the ceiling had caved in and almost completely blocked the corridor. He was going to be trapped._

" _Say the password, what're you waiting for?"_

 _But he didn't know the password! And he didn't want to cut off his hand! What he supposed to do? He shouted and cried out, hoping someone would hear him, begging for the two disembodied voices to help, but they only continued to give him useless instructions._

" _Cut it off, I say!"_

" _Say the password, you know it!"_

 _He cried out in alarm as a large chunk of rock fell just beside him, hitting his shoulder and breaking it. His arm, that wasn't stuck to the wall, fell limp at his side, and the pain in his shoulder was unbearable. A shudder ran through the cobblestoned ground, and he watched over his shoulder as the crumbling ceiling blocked off the corridor._

" _There's no way out for you now," the mousy voice said and faded away._

 _He leaned his forehead against the wall and whimpered. He was going to die. Again, he was going to die, and this time he didn't want to. He'd already died once! How many more times did he have to die? He didn't want to die!_

" _Then say the password," the silky voice hissed, and he nodded._

 _Turning to the wall, he said 'open', except the sound that left his mouth was a snake-like hiss. The wall slowly fell apart and he pulled his hand back as a shrill cackling filled the corridor._

" _I told you that you could do it! Now come with me, you and I have much to do."_

 _He nodded and stepped through the hole in the wall, blinking at the familiar sight. There was a single path that led up to the far back where the stone face of a wizard was carved. His shoes squelched against the wet ground as he walked down the path, and watched as the stone wizard's mouth fell open. Out slithered the biggest snake he'd ever seen, each of its fangs nearly as tall as him, dripping with venom._

 _It slithered right up to him and just as he thought it would eat him whole, it bowed its scaly head and hissed._

" _Welcome back, Master."_

* * *

 **[3 November 2011]**

 **12:43 AM**

He was jolted awake by the sharp raps on his door. Quickly rubbing a hand down his face and smacking his lips, he cleared his throat and straightened his shirt.

"Come in."

Buxley poked his head in and frowned. "Boss, it's past midnight, why're you still here?"

"Oh, is it? I just have a few more things to finish, and then I'll leave," he said gruffly.

Buxley walked in and turned on the light, making him squint. "It's not good for you to fall asleep at your desk, you know."

He sighed. "Yes, thank you, Mum. Now, if you could fill my mug up with some strong coffee, that would be very helpful."

Buxley frowned but did as he was told. After a time, he asked, "Is there anything I can help with?"

"No," Harry sighed. "But thanks."

"Well, I guess you're not the only one pulling an all-nighter," he said as he placed the mug on the desk. "Mrs Weasley's still here finishing up the past week's paperwork too—with Gonsales."

He grinned and Harry chuckled. He downed the scalding coffee and then said, "Oh good. Maybe I'll go check up on them. I need to stretch my legs anyway."

"You sure I can't help?" Buxley asked as they walked out of the office.

"Yes, I'm sure, Buxley. Now, why don't you get your arse home to your wife and kids before I get another owl from her yelling at me for taking away all your precious family time?"

The balding man's ears turned red and he flushed, causing Harry to laugh. "I swear I told her off for it."

"I'm telling you, it's fine. She meant well, and I can always use it to pull your leg." He clapped Bluxley on the shoulder, and the burly wizard grumbled.

"Well, I'm just gonna go pack up, so…"

"Right. 'Night then."

"'Night boss."

He whistled softly as he made his way to the lifts. Stepping in, he pressed the button for the fourth floor and leaned back as the magical voice echoed through the empty lift. It barely took a minute or two before the magical voice was announcing his destination and he stepped out with a yawn, scratching his cheek.

"Should shave," he mumbled to himself as he walked down the corridors to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

Pushing the door open, he carefully made his way through the dark room and to the Deputy's office at the back. Poking his head in, he grinned.

"You look like you could use some company."

Hermione looked up from over the multi-coloured piles of parchment and grimaced. "What're _you_ still doing here?"

He shrugged as he walked up to her desk and picked up a flier. "I took last week off, too, remember?"

"I thought you'd finished up your week's worth of work," she said as she Levitated three piles to the file cabinet.

"I thought you did, too," he replied as he slumped into a chair.

"Well, I didn't expect to be asked to clear out and change departments so soon," she said as she watched the files arrange themselves in the various drawers.

"You've gotten quite good at that," he commented as she came to sit on the desk beside him.

"Yes, well, I've had lots of practice."

He hummed and settled back as they watched the files, revelling in the silence of the Ministry at night, the only sound coming from the files stacking themselves.

"Do you really think it's a good idea, though? Me transferring to the DMLE?" she finally asked as she Summoned two mugs of tea.

He glanced towards her and said, "Why are you asking _me_ that?"

"Because you work under the DMLE, why else?"

"Technically, that's true, but the Auror Department's more or less independent in its decision-making."

"Didn't seem that way when I spoke to Robards."

He groaned. Of _course_ she'd spoken to Robards. He mentally berated himself for telling her to find out about Lestrange's release some other way.

"Robards needs to learn when to shut his mouth. Especially now that he's leading the undercover division."

"Yes, well, Robards thinks it's a good idea for me to transfer into the DMLE. Especially since I'll be directly transferring into a higher post than normal transfers."

"Of course you are, you're the Deputy Head of the DRCMC," he said. "And why does he think so?" he added when she gave him a pointed look.

"Because then there would be someone on the inside who supports your cause."

"I'm not running a _cause,_ Hermione—" he started, but she cut him off.

"I know, but wouldn't you feel better knowing I could help when the DMLE chooses to interfere with your decisions? And you could tell me about your top secret cases without having to make me run all around the place trying to find out the truth while breaking a whole bunch of rules in the process."

She huffed, and he rolled his eyes. For all either of them cared, Hermione's main intention in joining the DMLE was mostly so she could tell people off for not following the rules.

"I'm actually surprised you chose to finally transfer after being with the DRCMC for so long," he said.

"Well, I did all I could in this department, I would think. Now it's time I took it up a notch and do other things that would help in the betterment of the wizarding world."

He smiled and she gave him a look. "What?"

"Nothing, I was just thinking that I'm glad you haven't really changed."

"Well… none of us _really_ change. We just… grow up."

He grinned as he raised his mug in a toast. "Here's to watching you shake up the DMLE from the roots."

She returned his grin with one of her own as she clinked her mug with his. "Not too much, I hope. Wouldn't want the DMLE breaking down."

He laughed as she tossed her hair over her shoulder pretentiously, and decided that yes, it definitely would do the wizarding world good to have Hermione Granger-Weasley in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

* * *

 **A/n: A huge thanks to my fabulous beta lokilette; she managed to beta this despite being so busy. And tight hugs to all of you who've reviewed, followed and favourited this story! You guys make me cry.**

 **What did you think of the nightmares? I actually have a lot of fun writing them because they aren't constrained by all that much.**

 **A galleon for your thoughts and a giant, digital cookie for your reviews!**

 **Lots of love~**

 **Arty.**


	7. 7 Lies: Seeing Things

**Chapter 7**

 **Seeing Things**

* * *

 **[4 November 2011]**

 **3:05 AM**

 _They were screaming._

 _He didn't know who they were, but they were screaming._

 _The Fiendfyre swallowed everything whole, its flaming maw open wide, its serpentine form rearing and lunging and razing everything to the ground._

 _The witches and wizards were running for their lives, crying for help, begging for mercy, and he wanted to save them—_ help _them—but when he opened his mouth, all that left it was a malicious cackle. He faltered, unable to understand the madness that sang through his veins, unable to fathom the darkness that clung to his bones._

 _Who was he?_

" _Look at them flee, my lord, like the lowly insects they are!"_

 _He turned towards the high-pitched voice as it broke into maniacal laughter. The woman's wild hair and crazed expression made him sick._

 _Who_ was _he?_

 _A child stumbled, tripped over a burning plank, and fell to the ground. The boy looked up, eyes wide and fearful, tears streaming down his dirt-smeared cheeks, and he felt his heart clench. He wanted to help this child. He wanted to save him. He wanted to—_

" _Avada Kedavra!"_

 _The curse left his lips before he even knew it was he who had spoken the words. He watched as the light left the boy's eyes, as the green flash of the Killing Curse shimmered in those dark orbs before dying out, the child's limp body collapsing on to the dirt. The air was filled with terrified screams, but even amidst the shrill cries and shrieks, he could hear the wails of the mother as she gingerly pulled her son into her arms. She threw her head back and cried to the burning heavens, cried to the pitch-black sky, but her woes went unheard._

 _His body was trembling—not out of fear, not out of regret, but out of pure ecstasy. This woman's suffering was bringing him profound joy like nothing else ever had. It was pulsing through him as though it was a living being, surging through his body like pure energy. It was exalting._

 _It was terrifying._

 _He moved towards her, reaching out to her, making to placate her, to mollify her, but when she looked towards him, her eyes were as black as the night. The hatred that shimmered in those dark orbs reflected the fire that continued to claim hundreds of innocent lives. That hatred, it burned him more than the Fiendfyre could ever have. It scorched away his soul and left him as nothing but an empty shell._

 _But then again, he was an empty shell to begin with._

 _Who was he?_

" _You will die," the woman was saying, her face twisted into an ugly snarl, "you will die the most painful, brutal, pitiless death. And you will regret it. You will regret ever being born. You will regret ever having existed—"_

 _Who_ was _he?_

"— _You will regret ever being Lord Voldemort."_

 _He opened his mouth to scream, but the only thing that left it was an insane cackle, followed by a gleeful, "Avada Kedavra!" He watched as the spell caught the woman in her chest. But even as she fell back, her grip on her son never loosened, and the hatred in her eyes never died out._

 _They were screaming._

 _He was screaming._

* * *

 **11:53 AM**

"Hey, watch it!" he bellowed at the blonde who'd just run into Hermione, receiving a bewildered look from the woman as she jogged away.

"Harry, stop. I'm fine," Hermione said as they knelt down and picked up the parchment she'd dropped.

"Really, _this_ is why I hate getting out of the office just before lunch hour," he groused as he got to his feet, taking the rest of the files from her arms. "Now, come on, I don't want someone else running into you and knocking you over _again."_

"I wasn't looking!" Hermione flushed. She was oddly nervous for her meeting with the DMLE's top executives—much more nervous than he had expected her to be. After all, it was just a routine interview that was necessary for all those who were transferring to a higher post within the department.

She muttered something to herself, and he rolled his eyes as they walked briskly towards their destination: the DMLE's Head Office.

"Are you sure you have everything?" he asked her for the dozenth time as he handed her the files and paperwork.

"I'm sure, Harry." She offered him a grateful smile.

He nodded. "Good. Now go show them who's boss."

She scrunched up her nose at the tacky phrase, but grinned anyway as she made her way into the office. He watched till he could no longer see her and then exhaled loudly, letting his shoulders droop. He debated whether he should return to his office or hang around to wait for the verdict, but then decided against the latter. This was Hermione, for Merlin's sake. There was absolutely no reason to worry that she'd do anything less than a phenomenal job.

He nodded to himself and made his way back to the Auror Office, feeling his stomach knot. He tried to wave it off as just the nerves of waiting for Hermione's interview to end, but he knew better than to kid himself.

Rabastan Lestrange's release was on Saturday. Today was Friday. And his nightmares were worse than ever.

He shut the door to his office and trudged up to his desk, slumping into the chair with a groan. The fact that he was about to come face to face with a Death Eater was bad enough, and now, not only did he have to make sure that _he_ going to keep his cool, he had to make sure that _Neville_ wasn't going to lose his.

In all honesty, it didn't seem like Neville was actually going to pick a fight with Lestrange, considering how resolute he had seemed about it all. Robards had managed to get a confirmation from the top brass regarding Harry's leading the security detail during the course of the release and transfer. He still had a feeling they had done it rather begrudgingly, and that left a bad taste in his mouth.

It didn't matter to him that people still resented him for the post he held. That was something he'd learned to deal with throughout his life. It didn't make it any easier knowing that things had to be done in a roundabout method for him to get what was rightfully his in the first place, though. It was like the Headmaster refusing to give a student a gold medal just because he thought he'd received too many already.

Sighing, he pulled out the last bit of the day's paperwork he had left. He decided that he might as well make use of the time he had than just sit around and mope. That way, he'd be able to go home to Ginny and the kids and spend the evening with them before she left.

Dipping his quill in the pot, he flipped the sheet over, and was just about to get down to business when he felt a sudden chill run down his spine. He snapped his head up, eyes scanning the room, his skin having broken out in gooseflesh.

"Stop being paranoid," he scolded himself, turning back to the parchment, although he couldn't shake off the feeling that someone was watching him.

The faster this transfer happened, the better for his state of mind.

* * *

 **12:20 PM**

He had almost finished, when there was a knock on the door. Guessing it was probably Buxley or one of the other Aurors, he called for them to enter without looking up from the forms he was signing.

The door was shut quietly and whoever it was made their way to his desk without announcing themselves. Finally deciding to acknowledge the person, he looked up, and had to bite his tongue to keep himself from exclaiming in surprise.

"Hello, Harry," Neville said, smiling rather sheepishly.

"Neville," he hissed, looking towards the door. "Why are you here?"

"Well, you asked me to meet with you on the day before the release—"

"I didn't ask you to come _here,_ Neville!" Harry snapped, casting an Imperturbable Charm on the door.

"Oh," was Neville's reply and Harry pinched the bridge of his nose as he motioned for the other man to take a seat.

"Did you speak with anyone on the way here?"

"Oh, yeah, I bumped into a few of the lads who were on the same team as me, when I was still an Auror."

Harry bit back a sigh. "Neville," he began in a controlled voice, "you do realise this is a _top secret_ situation, right? The kind which nobody, except the few directly involved, know about?"

"Of course I do." Neville frowned slightly and Harry had to consciously quell his irritation.

"Then _why_ are you here, Neville? I was going to meet with you in the Leaky or something, there was no need for you to come to the Ministry—"

"So it's true, then."

Harry eyed Neville wearily, instantly recognising the clear, knowing look in his eyes. "What?"

"They're still giving you trouble for being Head Auror," he said, more than asked, and Harry had to keep himself from groaning out loud.

"Yes, well, some things don't just go away, you know—"

"I know."

Harry looked up to see Neville lean forwards in his seat, his eyes shining with understanding and support. It reminded him of the times during the war when Neville had stood by Harry's side irrespective of what had happened. It sort of relieved him that Neville was here, although he couldn't help but be overly cautious in case anybody realised something was going on. If everything was taken into consideration, his paranoia was justified—at least as far as he was concerned.

He nodded finally and relaxed back in his seat. "Yeah. You still should've at least warned me before showing up here."

"I did send a letter. Maybe it just got added to the rest of the pile," Neville reasoned.

"Maybe…"

They sat in silence for a long moment—Harry refusing to meet Neville's eyes, and Neville refusing to back down. Finally, unable to bear the stifling silence, and Neville's intense gaze on him, he stood up and walked towards the coffee dispenser.

"Coffee?" he asked, pouring the dark liquid into two mugs.

"Oh, yeah. Thanks."

He added some milk, swirled the liquid with his wand, muttered a Warming Spell, and carried the two mugs to the desk. He placed one before Neville and sat back in his chair, taking a long swig of the strong coffee before returning his focus to the man before him.

"Alright, since you're here, we may as well get right down to business," he said, and Neville nodded. "I'm assuming you spoke to Robards?"

"I did, actually." Neville played with the handle of his mug. "Kingsley told me that Robards has been promoted to Head of the Undercover Unit—which surprised me, really, considering he'd only just decided to retire—"

Harry nodded in understanding.

"—So I met with him, and he walked me through exactly what I was supposed to do during the time of the release."

Harry nodded. "So I don't have to repeat it, yeah?"

Neville shook his head. "I even wrote it all down, just in case." He scratched his chin awkwardly and Harry couldn't help but grin.

"That's good, then." He signed off the last sheet of parchment and kept it to the side, placing his mug before him. "I hope I don't have to remind you that you'll only be present during the release? And you'll remain with the other unit once the transfer starts?"

Neville nodded, his jaw clenched. "Yeah. Yeah, I know."

"Good." Harry watched Neville, waiting patiently, knowing that there was something else the other man still wanted to say.

"Did yours get worse, too?" Neville finally asked in a strangled sort of voice, and Harry felt his breath hitch.

 _I knew it._

"Did what get worse—"

"Your nightmares."

The look in Neville's eyes was so intense that he knew he had no chance of getting around the question. He sighed.

"Not really," he started, and Neville leaned back, his jaw set, but Harry continued before the other man could interrupt. "I mean, not in the same way as yours, I'm sure. Mine have been steadily getting worse since day one, and this…turn of events…just added to it, is all."

Neville stared at him for an uncomfortably long moment before nodding. "Have you contacted them yet?"

"Whom?"

"Antares."

For a second, he didn't know what Neville was talking about, and it must've shown on his face because the wizard sighed and said in an endearing voice, "The organisation I told you about, Harry."

"Ah."

When Neville continued to watch him expectantly, he shook his head, trying not to look guilty when the other pursed his lips.

"Harry…"

"I haven't had the time, mate. What with this whole Lestrange business, the DMLE being a pain in the arse, Robards' sudden promotion—and Hermione's, too, as a matter of fact—I've been working overtime this whole week."

"Hermione's been promoted?" Neville looked impressed.

"Yeah, she's in a meeting-interview with the top execs right now. Actually," he said, checking his watch, "she might be done."

"Well, I think we're done here, so I can walk with you, if you want," Neville offered, standing.

"What about your coffee?"

"Er, right," Neville said distractedly, downing the mug and making a face. "Not a big fan of lukewarm coffee."

Harry grinned, coming around the desk and clapping Neville on the shoulder. "So, how's Hannah doing?"

"Oh, she's doing great, thanks. The Leaky's been really busy lately, and she's finally decided she can't run the whole pub on her own."

"About time," Harry said as they stepped out of his office. "I'm impressed that she's been holding out for this long."

"You and me, both." Neville replied with a shake of his head. "What about Ginny and the kids? I heard she's covering the tournament this season?"

"Yeah, she is. She's leaving today, actually. I'm hoping I can get back early to see her off." He nodded to Buxley as they left the office, and the man shot Neville a look before nodding back.

"Oh, really?" Neville asked, clearly not having seen the look Harry's deputy had given him. "What about the kids?"

"Molly's offered to look after them. Fleur's visiting with Dominique and little Louis, so they said it would be nice for the kids to spend some time with them."

"They're back from France, are they?" Neville asked, waving back to a group of Aurors who were standing a little way off.

"Yeah, got back last week. Bill's busy with work, so Fleur's spending a couple days at the Burrow."

"That's nice."

They paused a little away from the head office, each lapsing into silence as they reverted back to their own thoughts. A few minutes later, Hermione exited the office. She looked frazzled, and her hair was all over the place, but she was beaming.

"Hi." He laughed as she all but ran up to them and threw herself into Harry's arms. "I take it that it went well, then?"

"Oh, it was fantastic," Hermione said with a grin, pulling Neville into a hug. "Neville! So good to see you! How _are_ you doing?"

"Not as great as you are," Neville replied with a laugh as Hermione bounced on the spot.

"Of course, of course." She looked around, as though making sure no one was listening, and then, pulling them to a corner, said, "I also got permission to help with the transfer paperwork. Isn't that wonderful?"

"Hermione…" Harry groaned, and she smacked him in the chest.

"Now, don't you whine, Harry," she scolded, huffing. "I'm doing this for you."

"That doesn't make me feel any better," he grumbled, but Hermione's focus had already shifted to Neville.

"Oh, Neville, it's been _ages!_ You really must meet up with us more often!"

"You know I can't do that, Hermione. I only managed to get a few days off now because I hadn't used up any of my leave days, and now I've used them all up, so I can't take any more days off."

"Yes, but at least during the holidays." She gave him a stubborn look and Neville looked at Harry helplessly.

"Alright, Hermione, how about we leave Neville alone for a moment and focus on _you._ What say we go out for lunch to celebrate?"

"Oh, yes, let's!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. "I heard about this little place that I think you'd really like, Harry," she started, dragging the two of them along.

"Yeah?" He shared a look with Neville as they waited for the lift. Hermione continued with her chatter, and when she turned to Neville, Harry zoned out, looking around the crowded hallways. He identified some familiar faces from different departments, smiled at a few who greeted him, but mostly just stared off into space.

He belatedly heard the ping of the lift, and he felt Hermione tap his shoulder to get his attention, but just as he was turning towards her, something caught the corner of his eye. He whipped around, heart pounding in his chest, eyes searching frantically for the hooded figure he had just spotted. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end and he had broken out in cold sweat. He began to weave through the throng of witches and wizards, all senses focused on finding the cloaked figure he was sure he had seen.

He thought he'd caught another glimpse of the cloaked form, but before he could do anything, fingers closed around his wrist, and he was forced to stop.

"Harry!" Hermione's voice rang clear through the blood pounding in his ears, and he stared at her, wide-eyed, taking in the bewildered look on her face. "Harry, are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost."

He looked over his shoulder one last time before turning back to Hermione. "Yeah, I'm fine. I just thought I saw someone I knew."

Hermione frowned and opened her mouth, making to say something, but Neville joined them just then, and a silent understanding passed between the two men.

"I asked Mason to hold the lift. You OK, mate?"

"I'm good. Let's go," he said, putting an arm around Hermione and steering her towards the lift.

They stepped into the crowded space and he backed up against the wall of the lift, revelling at the feel of the cool metal against his burning skin. He could sense Hermione's gaze on him, but he focused on calming himself down.

 _It wasn't real,_ he told himself firmly. _It was just a hallucination. It wasn't real. There's no way a Death Eater can just walk through the Ministry scott-free. It wasn't real._

"Harry."

He glanced up to find himself staring into Neville's worried blue eyes, and forced himself to smile.

"I'm fine, Neville."

Neville watched him for a moment longer before nodding. "Yeah," he said, although he didn't sound convinced.

Harry turned away, breathing deeply. The apparition—or whatever the hell it was—he had just seen had shaken him up to the core. His nightmares had affected him during his waking hours before, admittedly, but this was taking things to a whole new level. The enchanted voice announced their destination, and, as he stepped out of the lift, he decided once and for all that as soon as Lestrange's release and transfer were done with, he would write to Antares.

* * *

 **5:20 PM**

"Daddy?"

"Hi, sweetheart!" He laughed as Lily threw herself into his arms and kissed her head as he picked her up. "All set?"

She nodded, and he grinned.

"Great! Now, where're your brothers?"

Lily shrugged as she cradled her doll in her arms and snuggled against him, laying her head against his shoulder.

"Hey," he said softly, kissing her forehead. "What's wrong?"

She mumbled a quiet 'nothing', but sniffed, rubbing her eye.

"Lils," he said, walking over to the sofa and sitting down. He pulled her on to his lap and tried to get her to look at him, but she clung on to him, refusing to pull away. "What's wrong, love? Did your brothers do something?"

She shook her head.

"Did Mummy yell at you?"

She shook her head again.

"Lily, you know Daddy can't help if you don't tell me what's wrong," he said gently, stroking her back and kissing her hair.

After a long moment, she mumbled something into his chest, and he leaned down, but couldn't hear her. "What's that?" he asked, and she finally pulled back, wiping her cheeks.

"Lily, baby, come on, don't cry. You know Daddy hates seeing his little girl cry. Come on, tell me what's upset you so much. Daddy'll fix it."

"Really?" she asked in a small voice, looking up at him with wide, brown eyes just like her mother's.

"Really," he promised.

She nodded slowly and sniffed, drawing patterns on his chest with her finger. He waited patiently, knowing she would tell him when she was ready, and held her as she sniffled quietly.

Finally, she said in a voice so quiet he almost missed it, "Don't wanna go to the Burrow."

Surprised, he pulled her against him and rocked back and forth, unsure of what exactly had caused his daughter to say such a thing. The kids absolutely adored their grandparents and loved their time at the Burrow—mostly because Arthur and Molly spoiled them rotten. Arthur bought them toys every chance he got, and Molly made them all their favourite food, and it was heaven on earth for all the grandchildren.

So he absolutely had no idea where this was coming from.

"Why not?" he finally asked when he kept drawing blanks to every line of reasoning he could come up with.

She shook her head, snuggling against him, and he held her close, humming softly in the way he knew calmed her.

"Won't you tell Daddy?" He almost thought she'd shake her head again, but she finally pulled away, rubbing her eyes.

"Lily," he whispered, pulled her hands away and kissing them. "Sweetheart, please don't cry. We don't have to go to the Burrow if you don't want to. I'll talk to Mummy and we can figure something out. OK?"

He expected that to placate her some, at least, but she only shook her head again. Frustrated by his inability to understand his own daughter, he wracked his brains, thinking of some way to resolve this issue whose cause he had no idea of.

"So you want to go?" he asked, and Lily shook her head.

"So you _don't_ want to go?" he asked, and Lily shook her head again.

Gritting his teeth, he focused on calming himself. Getting irritated wasn't going to solve anything. If he wanted to figure out what the problem was, he needed to know what had triggered it in the first place. He quickly thought back to the past week, trying to see if he remembered any time Lily had behaved oddly. If she had been crying more than usual, or throwing tantrums more than usual, or annoying her brothers more than usual. He could pick out a few incidents, but nothing that stood out specifically.

He bit back a sigh and looked around the living room, absolutely clueless on what to do, when his eyes fell on Ginny's suitcases. A jolt ran through him and he looked down at his daughter, watching as she quietly fiddled with her doll.

"Lils, are you upset that Mummy's leaving?"

Lily paused, stared at her doll, and then began to cry. Alarmed, he cradled her to his chest, holding her and stroking her hair as he tried to pacify her.

She was upset that her mum was leaving?

He didn't understand it. Ginny had left home for work before—for weeks, sometimes—and although the kids missed her and asked for her, they usually never seemed all that upset by it. So he really didn't understand why it was that Ginny leaving this time was making Lily cry so much.

"Sweetheart, please," he begged, his voice breaking. He hated to see his little girl cry. It broke his heart.

"Baby, please, come on, don't cry. You know Mummy has to go to work. You've always been OK with it, right?"

Lily shook her head, and he felt a boulder-sized lump settle in his throat. So he'd been wrong all along. Some dad he was.

"Lils," he said softly, pulling her away and wiping her cheeks. "Here." Rummaging in his coat, he pulled out a toffee he'd picked up from the restaurant they'd eaten lunch at.

She eyed the toffee for a long moment before she finally took it. She carefully unwrapped it and plopped it in her mouth, sniffling as she laid her cheek against his chest.

He sat there, stroking her hair and humming softly, till Ginny bustled into the room, the boys following close behind. It took her a moment to notice him and Lily because she was busy rummaging in her bag and relaying instructions to their sons, but when she did, her eyes widened and a somewhat pained expression crossed her face.

"Is she asleep?" Ginny asked, and Harry nodded. She walked up to the sofa and gently stroked Lily's hair. "She finally stopped crying."

He felt his heart thud in his chest. "She's been crying?"

Ginny nodded. "She came into our room, last night, before you got home, in tears. It took me a long time to put her to sleep. She hasn't been talking much all day." Ginny shook her head and swallowed. "I wouldn't have gone if I knew…"

"Hey, come on, don't say that. Listen, how about we take them over to your parents' place and spend the night? I'll tell Angie I'll drop you off at the station tomorrow."

She nodded, reaching up and caressing his cheek. "Yeah," she said softly, turning away as Albus came and hugged her from the back.

"Hey..." She ruffled his hair as he stared at the floor, his mouth puckered in a sad, little pout. "Don't tell me big brother Al's going to cry, too?"

"Won't cry," he said stubbornly, although he sniffed. James came up and clapped Albus on the shoulder, giving Ginny a weird half-smile, half-grimace.

"Boys don't cry," he declared, and both Harry and Ginny chuckled. Harry pulled out the rest of the toffees and held them out, smiling as his sons cheered and snatched them from his hand.

It took them a while to bundle the boys into the Floo with Ginny, and he waited till the smoke settled to step in, making sure he didn't knock Lily's head against the mantle. He looked around the living room one last time, and kissed his daughter's hair, before throwing down the Floo powder.

* * *

 **A/n: Thank you so much for all the follows and favourites! I want to thank a particularly inspiring guest reviewer who apparently has read my other stories as well- thank you so much!**

 **Since college starts tomorrow, I'm not sure if I'll be able to update every five days, and while I'll try, you can expect updates every weekend for sure.**

 **Rabastan Lestrange's release coming up next!**

 **Reviews are my cocaine, so please give me more! [I'm not addicted, I swear]**

 **Lots of love~**

 **Arty.**


	8. 8 Lies: Rabastan Lestrange

**Chapter 8**

 **Rabastan Lestrange**

* * *

 **[5 November 2011]**

 **6:06 AM**

"Alright, looks like I've got everything."

He nodded, pulling Ginny against him and kissing her. "I'll miss you," he said as they moved apart, and she gave him a sad little smile.

"You're making this harder for me, you know," she said in a teasing voice, although her brown eyes seemed suspiciously moist.

"Right, sorry." He cleared his throat as he shut the car's door. "You OK? Or do you want me to go with you till the train?"

"I'm _fine,_ Harry. This isn't the first time I'm travelling. Besides—" she jangled her purse, grinning. "Hermione's bags are extremely useful. I'm barely carrying any luggage."

"The charm wears off after a while, so make sure to keep recasting it," he reminded her as he tucked a strand of her ginger locks behind her pale ear.

"I know, sweetheart." She kissed him. "And I promise to leave you a message as soon as I reach."

"Yeah."

She hugged him one last time before walking away, looking over her shoulder and waving when she reached the corner. He waved back and stuffed his hands in his pockets, watching the place where she'd disappeared for a long moment before getting into the car.

He drove past the groups of people milling around outside the station: families, friends, couples. He couldn't help but feel oddly bitter about it all. He knew that this time Ginny would only be gone for about two weeks, and that she would try coming home whenever she had time to spare between matches, but he couldn't help the emptiness that settled within him.

Ginny didn't know about Lestrange's release because he hadn't told her. All she knew was that something important was happening that day, which was why he couldn't be home with the kids. He didn't blame her—he'd been the one to keep it a secret, after all. But what with the stress of him leading the security detail, the pressure from the higher ups, and his worsening nightmares, it would've made him feel exponentially better if he knew he'd be returning home to her and the kids' laughing faces.

He desperately needed to spend time with Ginny and the kids to wash off the terrible feeling that was slowly accumulating in and around him. It was suffocating him, and he had no way of fighting it off except by putting on a brave face. He envied Neville, just then, for having Hannah to go home to, and almost regretted doing this for his sake, but he caught himself before he went down that path.

Neville needed this more than anybody else, he knew. The man deserved what little peace of mind this whole experience would get him, and if Harry could help, he would do it without being asked twice. Neville was someone who had gone through so much because of Harry—he couldn't even begin to imagine what sort of nightmares the he'd had, when he thought of all the torture Neville had been put through.

That thought didn't help placate him in the least, but it did manage to give him a sense of fortitude that would keep him going for the rest of the day.

As he drove, his mind was so full of thoughts about Ginny and the kids, of whether they'd be alright, of whether Neville would be alright, of whether the transfer would happen smoothly, and he was so preoccupied with his thoughts that he almost drove right past his house.

* * *

 **7:30 AM**

He nodded to Kingsley as he saw the man approach him, ending the conversation with the Aurors he was talking to and sending them off.

"Harry," Kingsley greeted him, shaking his hand.

"Kingsley," he replied, nodding.

"I hope you know what you're doing." Kingsley's eyes had a familiar, knowing glint in them.

Harry offered the wizard a grim smile. "I hope so, too."

Kingsley began to say something, but Hermione bustled over just then. She flipped through the files in her arms, handing over two to Harry and Kingsley, and finally looked from one man to the other.

"Robards asked me to give these to you. He and the team are ready for you, Harry," she said in a clipped voice, and he immediately realised she was extremely nervous.

He gave her a reassuring look and nodded, touching her arm to comfort her. She relaxed some, but he could still feel the nervousness emanating from her.

"Well, I wouldn't want to delay you." Kingsley nodded at the two of them and then glanced his way. "Walk with me, Harry?"

Harry shared a look with Hermione and then jerked his chin towards his office. She nodded and bustled off, muttering to herself.

"She sppears rather stressed out," Kingsley commented as he watched Hermione disappear into Harry's office.

"Well, considering it was your idea to have her take on the paperwork…" he trailed off, falling into step beside the Minister.

Kingsley bowed his head slightly, and Harry shook his head.

"I really don't understand your motives sometimes."

"I prefer it that way," Kingsley replied, motioning for Harry to step into the empty lift. "So, Robards has reassured me that everything is going according to plan and that the DMLE's top brass have high expectations for you."

"I was hoping you wouldn't say that." Harry sighed.

"You got what you asked for, Harry, so do not complain about it."

"I'm not complaining," he grumbled, suddenly realising that Kingsley hadn't pressed any of the buttons.

"Good. Well, I shall be getting timely reports from Robards regarding the situation, and I hope you remember—" He watched Harry in a way that seemed oddly reminiscent of Dumbledore, "—although you are leading the security detail, Robards is still in charge of this operation."

"I know that," Harry said, sounding a little more defensive than he had intended, and Kingsley nodded.

"That's good." He reached out and tapped the button that opened the lift's doors, and just as he stepped out, he called, "Don't be a hero, Potter."

Harry rolled his eyes as he watched Kingsley's glistening purple robes disappear around a corner. He was about to close the lift's doors when Hermione came running towards him. She made it just as they shut and exhaled loudly, putting her hands on her knees.

"I thought I told you to wait in my office," he said as he watched her catch her breath.

"Yes, well, I wasn't about to just let you leave without saying goodbye. I see I was right in knowing you would." She gave him a dirty look, and he rolled his eyes.

"It's exactly becauseI knew you'd say stuff like ' _leave without saying goodbye'_ that I was gonna _leave without saying goodbye,"_ he told her as he leaned back against the cool metallic wall of the lift.

She huffed and glowered at him, and he couldn't help but snort at that. "Hermione, for heaven's sake, it's not like I'm going off to war or something."

"Don't even joke about that," she snapped, and he winced.

"Right, sorry."

"So, where's Neville?"

"With Robards and the rest. Couldn't have him traipsing around here and rousing suspicion."

Hermione nodded as she straightened her skirt. The enchanted voice announced their destination, and she turned to him. "Right, then."

She hugged him quickly before the doors opened and all but ran out, leaving him staring after her with his arms still hovering in mid-air. Shaking his head, he strode out, adjusting his cloak and feeling for his wand up his sleeve. Nodding to himself, he pulled on the hood of his cloak and exited the Ministry.

* * *

 **8:23 AM**

"—and that's all there is to it."

Harry and Neville nodded as Robards face glared at them from the other side of the phone's screen. The older wizard grunted, shaking his head. "You lot can't stay out of trouble for one minute, can you?"

They grinned sheepishly, and Harry cut the call, suddenly reminded of the picture of him and McGonagall, and her words on the back of it.

" _P.S. I pray that, for once in your bloody life, Potter, you stay out of trouble. But not for too long, I daresay that would do the world more harm than good."_

He scoffed, unable to remove the image of a smug McGonagall from his mind.

"Sorry that I got you dragged into this," Neville leaned towards him to whisper and Harry shot him a look.

"I swear, Neville, if you start apologising or telling me how grateful you are, I'll chuck you out of this truck right now."

Neville pulled a face but nodded anyway. "I'll keep that in mind."

"You'd better." Harry picked up the file Hermione had handed him. He flipped through it, scanning the floor plans of Azkaban, the structure of the remodelled boat—whose interiors had been hollowed out and reinforced with enchanted metal—being used to transport them to and from the island the prison was on, the notes he had made regarding the unit's shifts, and other things she'd printed out.

He went through all of his instructions, the placing of each of the Aurors and Hit-Wizards, and Neville, the maximum and minimum time allotted for each phase of the release and transfer, and all the precautionary measures, including the extra ones he'd jotted down in case of an emergency.

 _Let's just hope there's no need for any of these,_ he thought grimly as he eyed his side-note of ' _Keep subject in sight at all times. Prepare to move at the slightest sign of trouble. Don't hesitate to engage.'_

He felt the truck jerk to a stop and he, along with the rest of his team, waited with bated breath as the backdoor of the truck slowly creaked open to reveal Robards' pale face.

"Alright, men, it's time to move out."

Harry jumped out first, followed closely by Neville and the rest, and they made their way to the small jetty in two lines. Robards pulled him aside as the men started boarding the boats.

"We good?" he asked, his grip on Harry's shoulder tightening.

"We are, sir."

Robards eyed him for a long moment before nodding. "Whatever it is you and your little friend have planned, it better not get in the way of this operation, or _all_ our heads are on the spike."

Harry nodded vigorously, his heart pounding in his chest. It had been a while since Robards had ordered him around, and he remembered, now, why he'd been so nervous around the man. Robards was more intimidating than Kingsley was, and that was saying something.

"Thank you, sir," Harry called as Robards began to walk away, but the constantly unhappy-looking wizard only looked over his shoulder and scoffed.

"Don't you think, even for one second, that I did this for your sake _."_

 _Well, good to see he hasn't changed a bit even after his supposed retirement._

"Yes, sir!"

He turned back to his unit as Robards started relaying instructions to the Hit-Wizards on his boat.

"All aboard?" he called as he stepped into the hollow, metal interior and nodded for the anchor to be raised.

"Yessir!" came the united reply.

 _Let's do this._

"All of you have been given a standard set of instructions that need to be followed throughout the course of this operation," Harry began, crossing his hands behind his back and striding down the length of the boat. "These instructions are to be followed to the last letter, and I don't want to see even a hair out of place. Am I clear?"

"Yessir!"

"Lestrange will be escorted by our platoon, so remember, _constant vigilance!"_

" _Yessir!"_

He nodded and turned away, allowing his men to go about preparing for the transfer. Neville walked up to him, and he looked like he would be sick.

"Don't use the bags, lean over the rail. You know the drill." Harry sat down on a crate and began checking off names on the list included in the file Hermione had given him.

"I've got to say, you've assimilated into your post rather well, haven't you?"

Harry glanced up at Neville's grinning face and grunted.

"I'll say. You didn't think they made me Head because of my looks, did you?"

"Blimey, Harry, you've even started to sound like Mad-Eye."

He grimaced, shooting Neville a dirty look and receiving a chuckle in turn. "That's better. You're far too tense, mate. It isn't like we're off to war or something."

He snorted. "Don't let Hermione hear you say that."

Someone called for him, just then, and he nodded to Neville. "Now's the only time for you to give yourself a pep talk, Nev. Make sure you're ready for what's coming up."

"Right," Neville said, taking a deep breath. "See you when we dock, sir."

Harry grinned as Neville saluted smartly and strode off, his head held high.

 _He makes me forget that he was a war hero and a trained Auror, too, sometimes._

Motioning for the Auror who'd been waiting to speak to him, he listened intently as the wizard began to give him a run down of the preparations.

* * *

 **12:35 PM**

He munched on his fifth Muggle energy bar that he'd picked up in London before Apparating to Whitby as he sent off his final half-hourly report to Robards. The boats would reach Azkaban any minute, now, and he needed to be at the top of his game. He'd barely slept a wink for days, he's even been hallucinating and was nervous as hell, and he couldn't afford to be hungry on top of all that.

"Sir, we're here."

He nodded as he got to his feet and moved to the front of the boat, peering out the porthole and squinting as he caught sight of the towering structure that was the penitentiary.

"Azkaban Prison," he muttered, feeling his stomach churn.

He'd only been ever been to Azkaban a few times: the first time had been to drop off the last set of prisoners after the war and pick up the bodies to be handed over to the families, and the last time was during his exam for the post of Head Auror. He'd almost thought he'd failed, at that stage, but had apparently done far better than the rest of the examinees—much to the surprise, and dismay, of a lot of people.

"Alright, you lot. Get ready," he called as the boat began to manoeuvre into the narrow jetty. There was scrambling as a set of Aurors climbed on to the deck in order to help moor the boat. The vessel groaned as waves crashed against it, and he swore as there were several shouts followed by splashes.

"Be careful, you idiots!" he bellowed as he clambered on to the deck, just in time to grab one of the younger Aurors by the back of his uniform and haul him on to the boat. "This is why I told you to memorise the precautionary measures! Grab the bloody railings and get on the footholds!"

"Yes, sir! Sorry, sir!" the lad yelled, getting to his feet and running towards where the rest were trying to steady the anchor, slipping and almost falling over in the process.

He ran a hand down his face and swore loudly. Sometimes he wondered if his lot purposely ignored instructions just to drive him up the wall.

"Marshall!" he barked as one of his fellow Aurors jumped off the boat and climbed down the anchor. "Wait till we reach the pier, damnit!"

The man yelled something back, but a wave crashed into the boat again, and they all leaned over the railing, waiting with bated breath to see if Marshall was still hanging on to the anchor. When his mop of brown hair came into sight, everyone cheered and Harry shook his head.

"This lot'll be the death of me," he muttered as he looked up and found Robards glaring at him. _Fantastic, now I've got the bulldog on my tail, too._

He strode towards the front, barking instructions, and grabbing on to the railing as the boat teetered. Conjuring ropes, he, and a few other Aurors, threw them to where Robards' team was waiting, and after a lot of yelling and screaming and falling over, the boat was finally moored, and everyone was ashore.

"Never again," he groaned as Neville tossed him a towel with a sympathetic smile.

"Warm yourself up, or you'll catch your death of cold!" Robards was hollering a little way off, smacking one of the younger Aurors on the back.

Harry grunted as he pulled off his coat and uniform jacket, turning in a slow circle as Neville, and a few others, helped warm the wet Aurors.

"How's Lestrange doing?" he asked when Robards passed by, earning a scathing look from the older wizard.

"He must've died, already, with the amount of time you lot are taking."

Neville snorted as he handed Harry his clothes—now warm and rumpled—and shook his head. "Remind me again why I left the force," he said softly as Robards continued barking orders to everyone.

"Still looking for an assistant professor?" Harry joked as they watched Robards tell off a group of his own men for laughing.

"Don't make me choose between Robards and teaching children ranging from eleven to seventeen all year round," Neville grumbled, and Harry laughed.

"Tough luck, mate." Harry clapped Neville on the back. He pulled his coat on, smoothed down his hair, and walked up to where his unit was waiting for him.

"Alright, you know what you've got to do," he said, nodding to them. "And this time, _be sure to follow the bloody instructions."_

"Yessir!"

Neville came to stand beside him, and he jerked his chin towards the entrance of the prison—which was essentially a space so dark, it reminded him of a blackhole. It was an apt comparison, in all honesty, considering the plight of the convicted once they stepped in through the entrance.

"He'll be out soon," he said, and Neville nodded.

"Any chance I'll get to speak with him?"

When Harry shot him an incredulous look, Neville held his hands up and nodded. "Thought as much."

"Oi, Longbottom!" Robards bellowed and Neville started, looking around as though there was someone else by the same name, and then pointed to himself. "Yeah, you! Do you see any other pansy idiots around here?"

Harry snorted as Neville went red in the face. "Still think teaching a bunch of brats is worse?" Harry whispered, and Neville shot him a look.

"I will raise the lot of them as my own before I return to the force."

Harry grinned as he watched Neville jog off. For all the brain and brawn the man had gained ever since the war, in the face of Robards, he was still reduced to the blustering boy he used to be back during their time at Hogwarts.

 _We all are,_ he thought as Robards waved him over.

"Sir?"

"Longbottom here's gonna be helping with the transfer," Robards said, jerking his chin towards Neville. "I don't trust those idiots from your platoon that fell aboard. Can't even dock a bloody boat and they wanna escort a convicted prisoner."

"The Minister said—"

"The Minister can talk to my arse," Robards interrupted, turning away and yelling for everyone to take their positions.

"See if he'll repeat that when we're less than half an ocean away from the Minister," Neville muttered from the corner of his mouth and Harry whacked him on the back.

"Don't start, mate." He nodded towards the entrance as a set of chains clanked loudly. "Here he comes."

They watched with bated breath as the first set of guards arrived, all of them grim-faced and pale as death. Then came a pair of guards carrying heavy chains, followed by a thin, malnourished, sunken-looking man, tufts of stringy hair hanging limply down his face. He shuffled forwards, and seemed to be moving only because the guards behind him constantly prodded and pushed him.

His wrists and ankles were bound by chains reinforced by condensed magic, almost making Harry feel sick when they passed by him. The rags he wore were filthy, as was the rest of him, and he was more bone than flesh. He looked like one of those slaves Harry remembered seeing in a documentary years ago. They'd looked so pathetic and pitiful that death seemed like a better evil than forcing them to live.

He watched as the small procession slowly made its way to where Robards and a group of Hit-Wizards were standing. Everyone tensed when the guards removed the chains from the prisoner's wrists and ankles, as though the half-dead man could be any more dangerous than the sea slugs clinging to the dank walls.

" _That's_ Lestrange?" someone whispered from behind Harry, and he shared a look with Neville as they made their way to the jetty.

He almost felt foolish for losing sleep over the man before him. If he was getting nightmares because of this man, who barely seemed to be clinging on to life and sanity, then he couldn't imagine what sort of torture the former Death Eater had to face within the walls of the formidable prison. He thanked the heavens that Dementors no longer guarded the penitentiary. This level of cruelty, even for a murderer, was _wrong_. It made the bile rise to his throat and made him want to scream and pull his hair out.

He would've preferred if Rabastan Lestrange had remained true to his former title—a Death Eater feared by all—than the sunken man, reduced to the state of a frightened, lifeless being who he could only pity. He felt no fear for this man. He felt no anger towards this man. All he felt was immense pity.

* * *

 **5:30 PM**

"He looks even worse than when I went to visit him," Neville said in a low voice as they followed close behind the group of Aurors escorting Lestrange.

They had just left the trucks in the parking lot of the North York Moors National Park, and were currently making their way to the safehouse—originally a rundown building where the Muggles used to store grain—where Lestrange would spend the last of his days.

"At least he'll be able to spend the rest of his days in peace." Harry watched two Aurors help Lestrange climb over a small boulder.

"Yeah," Neville mumbled, and Harry sighed.

This was not what he had expected. He had expected to be able to gain some peace of mind, after seeing the relief and life in Lestrange's eyes. He had even been deluded into thinking that the former Death Eater would have been grateful for his pardon, but of all the many scenarios he had concocted in his head ever since learning about Lestrange's release, this was most definitely not one of them.

Just then, Lestrange tripped and went sprawling across the ground, and for the first time since leaving Azkaban, a sound left his mouth—and it was the sound of a frightened, wounded animal. It made Harry's blood go cold and he had to force himself to breathe deeply to keep from being ill. Neville didn't seem to be in any better a state than him, and one or two Aurors actually threw up to the side.

"This is…" Neville shook his head, having gone completely pale, and they watched as the Aurors gingerly helped Lestrange to his feet, exchanging looks of confusion, their disconcert clear in their expressions.

"We're almost there." Harry cleared his throat, and they continued on their slow trek through the moors, shivering from the November wind that nipped at their exposed necks.

"Don't you think he's cold?" Nevile asked after a time, when Lestrange shuddered, and Harry shrugged.

"I think he may have gotten past feeling things as mundane as the cold."

Neville nodded, looking stricken, and they continued on their journey, stopping every now and then when Lestrange began to heave.

"Can't we just carry him, sir?" the lad he'd saved from going overboard asked, and Harry shook his head.

"We could, but…" _There's no way anybody would be willing to. Pitiful or not, this man murdered hundreds of innocent people and was part of Voldemort's inner circle._

The boy nodded and moved away, and an Auror from the group escorting Lestrange jogged up to him.

"Sir, shift change."

Harry nodded, motioning for the group behind him to swap places with the group around Lestrange. They paused for only a minute, just so the two groups could switch positions, but those sixty seconds happened as though in slow motion, allowing him to recollect everything that occurred as though he had paused time.

Three shots rang out, followed by multiple shouts. An Auror fell to his knees, and the Auror directly in front of Lestrange crumpled to the ground—along with Lestrange.

"Secure the perimeter!" Harry shouted, taking off towards the source of the shots in an instant. Half a dozen Aurors were at his heel, and they split up as they reached the line of trees.

All senses alert and focused on finding the perpetrator, he pulled his wand out and muttered tracking spells, casting them in different directions. His ears were ringing and blood was pounding through his veins. This wasn't supposed to have happened. No one was supposed to have known about the transfer. Nobody was supposed to have known of this location. They had taken all the necessary precautions. This wasn't supposed to have happened.

 _Unless…_

He whipped his phone out from inside his coat, barely pausing in his searching, and clicked on the speed-dial button. The call took a few moments to connect, considering his location and the magic flying around, and Robards' voice crackled on.

"—tter?"

"There's a leak. We've been ambushed. Locating perpetrator. Put all personnel on lockdown."

"—at?"

"Shite," he swore, as he repeated his message, only to receive more crackling in reply.

"Screw this. _Expecto Patronum!"_

The stag bounded out of his wand and he only paused to relay his message to it before taking off. There was a shout from behind, and he whipped around, running towards the sound, but even as he cleared the line of trees and saw his men tackle a man to the ground, he knew it was too late.

He barely glanced in the direction of the screaming shooter as he made his way towards where Neville was on his knees, trying to resuscitate Lestrange, who lay in a pool of his own blood.

"Neville—"

"Get—help—now," Neville gasped as he continued administering CPR, but Harry knew the man couldn't be helped.

"Neville," he urged again, trying to pull his friend off of the dying wizard, but Neville wouldn't relent. "Mate, it's too late."

"No!" Neville yelled adamantly, continuing with his ministrations, a panicked expression on his face. "Let me—save him—let me—"

"Neville!" he yelled, forcefully prying him away. "Calm down!"

"No… let me—let me—"

Harry nodded towards the medic and let him check Lestrange's pulse and wound. After a few moments, the wizard shook his head. Harry sighed.

"Neville, listen to me," he said quietly as he gripped his friend by the shoulder. "You said you wanted to speak with him, yeah?"

Neville nodded, a haunted look in his eyes.

"Then now's your chance, mate. Now's your only chance. Tell him whatever you wanted to."

Neville stared at Harry as though he thought it was a joke, and when Harry offered him a small smile, he sat up on his knees and leaned forwards.

Harry watched as Lestrange's hooded eyes slowly turned to the two of them, those empty, soulless orbs sending a chill down his spine at the hopelessness in them. This was a man who had given up on life. This was a man who didn't know the meaning of _hope_ anymore. This was a man who _wanted_ to die. And Harry's heart broke as he stared into those dark eyes completely devoid of life.

"Rabastan Lestrange." Neville's voice was clipped. "Do you know who I am?"

When Lestrange only continued to stare, showing no sign of recognition, Neville shifted and continued. "I'm Neville Longbottom. Son of Frank and Alice Longbottom. Do you remember them?"

Again, no recognition in his eyes. Neville ploughed on. "You were one of the Death Eaters that helped torture them into insanity. You were one of the Death Eaters who destroyed a boy's childhood and shattered his dreams. Do you remember that?"

Something seemed to flicker from deep within Lestrange's eyes, and Harry wanted to think it was regret or guilt, or even simple recognition, but it was probably just the last of his life dying out. He glanced sideways at Neville, taking in the pale-faced, stricken blond who reminded him of the frightened boy from so many years ago. He could almost hear young Neville scream " _Go to hell!"_ and he knew that it was only a matter of moments till the older Neville did the same.

But, to his, and everyone's, extreme shock and surprise, Neville settled back on his heels and cracked a smile, which looked more like a grimace, but it was an attempt, nonetheless. He closed his eyes and bowed his head, inhaling deeply. Opening his eyes so their clear, iridescent blue shone as the rays of the setting sun caught them, he opened his mouth and whispered in a voice that was clearer and surer than Harry had ever heard it—

"I forgive you."

Dumbstruck, and completely nonplussed, Harry slowly turned to look down at Lestrange, and watched with disbelief as a single, clear teardrop escaped from the corner of his eye. And as they watched, Lestrange's eyes slipped shut, and he lay unmoving.

Everyone sat staring at the former Death Eater's body, thoroughly stunned by what had just happened, unable to believe what they had just witnessed, till Robards' gruff voice echoed through the quiet moor.

He rose to his feet shakily, noting that Neville did the same out of the corner of his eyes, and cleared his throat.

"Transfigure something into a body bag. We're taking him back."

He turned to Neville, who stood staring at the dead man as though transfixed, and touched his arm. "What would you like to do with the body?"

Neville shrugged and shook his head, his eyes still wide and clear. "Burn it," he mumbled, and Harry nodded.

Someone asked him what to do with the body bag, and he instructed the Aurors to carry it back to the truck. "We'll take him back and cremate him."

They slowly dispersed, the only sound coming from Robards bellowing instructions, and the perpetrator—who turned out to be a Muggleborn Auror who had been recruited in the last minute—screaming that he had finally brought justice to the countless Muggles and Muggleborns who had died painful deaths at the hands of the Lestranges.

"Justice is such a fickle thing, isn't it?" Neville said, as they climbed on to the truck.

Harry stared at his feet as he slowly let that thought settle in his mind.

 _Yes. Yes, it is._

* * *

 **A/n: Super sorry for the late update! College is hell agh... this chapter is another one of my favourites. So what did you guys think about Neville and Lestrange? Let me know by leaving a review!**

 **I'll try and update the next one sooner, but it depends on college and my beta, so all we can do is hope!**

 **Thank you for all the follows and favourites, you guys! :')**

 **P.S. check out the cover picture! It's an aesthetic photoset of Drarry that I made! You can see it on my Pinterest here-** **pin/ 396668679657977272/ [just remove the brackets and spaces].**

 **Lots of love~**

 **Arty.**


	9. 9 Lies: Desperation

**Trigger Warning: Certain content in this chapter may be triggering. Read at your own discretion.**

* * *

 **Chapter 9**

 **Desperation**

* * *

 **[5 November 2011]**

 **9:14 PM**

"Here."

He glanced up at the cup of sweet smelling tea Hermione held out to him and slowly took it, staring at the dark liquid as it swirled inside the mug. He carefully brought the it to his lips and sipped, sighing as the warmth flowed through him. He watched as, across from him, Neville sat back in his chair and sighed, looking exhausted.

Hermione came to stand beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder, gently massaging it. He leaned into the touch, focusing all his senses on her warm palm, and tried to ignore the cold that clung to him.

"I heard you cremated him," Hermione whispered softly so only he would hear, and he nodded, sighing.

"Yeah. Seemed like the right thing to do."

"It was. I'm proud of you, Harry."

He looked up to see the soft smile on her face and her shimmering brown eyes, and felt himself relax. That's right. He'd done what he'd meant to do. He'd put to rest a past that wouldn't leave him alone. It had finally ended. A part of him could finally relax now that Rabastan Lestrange had passed on peacefully.

At least, as peacefully as a depressed, mentally tortured, emotionally deprived, lifeless man who was shot to death, could.

He groaned, taking his head in his hands. "I'll bet the top brass are having a gala of a time at my expense."

"They are, actually," Hermione said, and he threw her a look. "Having a gala of a time, I mean," she continued quickly. "But not at your expense."

"Thanks for trying," he mumbled into his hands, but Hermione only hummed thoughtfully.

"I think they're rather happy with how things worked out."

He shook his head. "I will never understand them."

She nodded in understanding. "I think it's better off that way, anyway."

"Er…"

The two of them looked up to see Neville slowly rise to his feet. "I think I'm gonna give them my statement and then take my leave."

Harry nodded, getting up and moving around the desk to clap Neville on the back. "Take care of yourself, mate."

Neville smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes, and they watched as he trudged out the door.

"I hope they don't give him too much trouble." Harry sighed as he walked towards the sofa and slumped down onto it.

"They won't. Robards and Kingsley are already handling it."

"Everyone always seems to be cleaning up my messes after me," he mumbled into his hands as Hermione came to sit beside him.

"You know that's not true, Harry. You couldn't have anticipated what happened. You did what you had to do and you did it to the best of your abilities. Even _Robards_ was shocked about the whole thing."

"Really?" he asked, looking at her through heavily lidded eyes.

She nodded and offered him a reassuring smile. "And, although Kingsley had you believe otherwise, Robards was appointed as head of the undercover unit mostly because he offered to take the post. Your week off was just a convenient time for his promotion."

"I know." Harry sighed, shaking his head.

She reached out and squeezed his arm reassuringly. "It's a good thing he did what he did, because it kept you on your guard and you made sure not to do anything unnecessary. Neville told me you even yelled at him for coming to see you at your office, yesterday."

"Speaking of Neville," he said as he threw his arms on the back of the sofa. "Did you hear about what he did?"

Hermione stared ahead for a long moment, and he wondered what was going on in that brilliant mind of hers. When she turned to look at him, her eyes were moist and her lower lip trembled as she opened her mouth to speak.

"I… I could never have done—what he did. I would never have had the courage to look into the eyes of a murderer, to be reminded that he was the man who ruined my family's, and so many others' lives, and then tell him that I forgave him so that he could die in piece. I could never do that."

Harry nodded, staring at his hands. "Even I wouldn't have been able to forgive him, if I were in Neville's place. I may have just said it, just for my own peace of mind and because it may have been the right thing to say, but I never would've forgiven him _completely._ "

"No one can ever forgive someone completely, Harry. That's what makes us human. We may get past something or learn to forget and move on, but we never completely forgive."

"Justice is such a fickle thing, isn't it?" he whispered to himself. Hermione rested her head against his shoulder and snuggled up against him.

"I wonder how he feels," she murmured. "Neville, I mean."

"Yeah… I wonder…"

She hummed softly and he leaned his cheek against her head, sighing as he let his eyes slip shut.

They stayed like that for a long time, simply revelling in the warmth and company of each other, and, for once, he felt at peace. He felt as though he could finally get past his nightmares, as if he could finally let them go and move on. He wanted that peace to last for a long, long time, but just as the thought crossed his mind, there was a sharp rap on the door.

"Boss?" Buxley's voice called as the door was slowly pushed open, effectively ending the moment of solitude. Harry turned to Hermione, noticed she'd fallen sleep, and pressing his lips to her hair, carefully extricated his arm from her grasp.

"'Mione, time to get back to work." He shook her awake gently, and she sighed, opening her eyes and nodding.

"Work come first, sleep comes last," she muttered as she straightened her skirt and tied up her hair.

"As always," Harry replied as Buxley aside and allowed Hermione to leave the office.

"Do they want my statement, now?" Harry yawned and Buxley nodded. "Are they in the conference room?"

He nodded again.

"Well, that's not too bad, then. I can probably still make it home by midnight."

"They want a full report on all events that transpired, starting from you leaving the Ministry till you returned, sir. In writing."

He groaned loudly and Buxley offered him a sympathetic look. "I could stay back and help…"

"That would be fantastic, thanks." He clapped the man on the shoulder. "Tell the rest of them that if they stay overtime, lunch is on me, tomorrow," he called as he made his way out of the Auror Office and towards the DMLE's head office.

He heard his colleagues cheer as he pulled the door shut and smiled to himself. Thank God for small mercies.

* * *

 **[6 November 2011]**

 _He was running. He didn't know from what, but, as he ran, he could feel fear replace every other rational thought as he ran. His heart was thundering in his chest, he could barely breathe, his knees were creaking, and the muscles in his legs were burning, but he kept running. At some point, he realised he may have run far enough, and slowly, tentatively, looked over his shoulder._

 _There was a bloodcurdling scream as the skeletal form of a man flew towards him. The lower half of his body was in the maw of a humongous serpent, and the man—or whatever the hell it was—was shouting for help, begging for mercy. He screamed as the serpent's eyes turned towards him and continued to run, stumbling as he quickened his pace._

 _If he stopped, the serpent would catch him. If he faltered, it would swallow him whole in the same way it was the skeletal man. So he continued to run._

 _The ground became rocky, as he made his way through the darkness, and he tripped, sprawling across it. He could hear the snake slithering close. He could hear the stones shatter beneath its enormous form. Pulling himself to his feet, he struggled forwards, refusing to listen to his exhausted mind and body._

 _He didn't want to be eaten alive. He didn't want to die._

 _There was a sudden crash and he jerked to his side just as a humongous wave cascaded down on him. Flailing, he swam to the surface and gasped for breath, coughing and spluttering as the air burned his lungs. There were screams from above and he looked up at a tall, looming building that stood in the middle of the black sea. He watched as people threw themselves from the windows carved into the walls, screaming as they plummeted to their deaths._

 _They knew they would die if they jumped, yet they continued to fling themselves from the tower. What horrors had they had to face within that would cause them to choose to jump into the unremitting undulations of the ocean, and to their imminent death?_

 _Something grabbed on to his shoulder and he looked back, only to come face to face with the skeletal form he'd seen being eaten by the snake. He screamed, trying to get away, but the waves tossed him around as they pleased, and the bony fingers digging into his shoulders didn't seem to want to let him escape._

" _Where is the justice?" a hoarse, animal-like voice wailed, and he struggled to get away from the undead man. "Where is the justice, I say!"_

" _I don't know!" he gasped, trying to remain afloat while simultaneously trying to escape this madman. What did he want from him? There was no justice that could save him!_

" _Justice is just a fickle thing, isn't it?" the creature hissed and he shuddered as its bony appendages circled his throat. "So fickle! So cruel! So merciless! Toss them into prison! Rid them of their humanity! Glean away their sanity! And then release them into the world instead of allowing them to die in peace! Where is the justice?"_

" _I—I don't know!" he cried, struggling as the grip around his throat tightened. "I don't know, please!"_

" _Why! Why must I heed your pleas when none heeded mine? Who was there to hear me when I was forced down a path of darkness? Who was there to save me when I wanted to escape the madness? Who! Where was the justice, eh? Where was it?"_

" _I don't know! Please, I don't know, I don't know!" he choked out, straining against the suffocating hold, trying to pull away from the fingers strangling him._

" _Then you will die with me!" the undead being shrieked, crushing his windpipe. He choked and gagged, his eyes rolling back in his head, his tongue lolling out of his mouth._

 _It hurt. He couldn't breathe. He was going to die._

 _He couldn't breathe. He was going to die._

 _He was going to die._

* * *

 **3:42 AM**

He woke up screaming for mercy, legs flailing and hands clutching his throat. Spluttering and sobbing, he jumped out of bed and crawled to the corner of the room. He pressed his back against the cool wall and heaved, throwing up all over himself. Sobbing and gagging, his eyes frantically searched the room, tears streaming down his face, and he swore he could hear the cackling of a madman.

He could see the hooded forms of Death Eaters with every movement of the curtains, and he could smell the burning of rotten flesh with every painful gasp of breath. He could feel an incessant itch just below his skin and he wanted to tear himself up and put himself back together.

Screaming, he tugged at his hair, unable to bear the sight of those lifeless eyes and the sound of the shrill laughter. He should have died. That monster should have killed him.

He couldn't—he didn't—

Where was he?

What was he doing? Who was he with?

 _The kids…_

It took him a moment to realise that he was at home, all alone, with no one to hear his screams or comfort his frenzied self.

There was no one. He was all alone.

" _You will die with me!"_

A flash of red eyes and limp hair, the feel of skeletal fingers against his throat, the smell of rotting flesh…

He was going mad. He was losing his mind.

He couldn't do this anymore. He couldn't live like this anymore.

"They were supposed to stop!" he screamed, tugging at his hair, barely feeling the sharp pain as he tore the hair out from the roots. "They were supposed to stop, I was supposed to be free!"

" _Where is the justice?"_

He threw his head back and howled, loud and hoarse, sounding like an animal in pain. When he opened his eyes, he only saw a face whose decaying flesh slipped from its bony form. When he opened his ears, he only heard the screams for help or the wails of the dead. When he stopped scratching his arms and legs, he only felt the invisible snakes crawl under his skin.

The voices didn't go away.

The screams didn't fade.

The undead man didn't leave him alone.

Reaching up, he grabbed a hold of the table lamp and smashed it against the ground. Staring at the jagged edge, he placed his palm face up against the ground, and raised his other hand.

He held it there, one hand clutching the broken lamp, stretched above his head, and the other placed palm up, pressed against the carpet. Staring at his palm, he let his arm drop as sobs wracked his body. He fell to the side, pulled his legs to his chest, curled into a foetal position, and sobbed into his knees. The screaming didn't stop. The undead creature didn't go away. The itching didn't desist.

He was going mad.

* * *

 **8:02 AM**

He slowly rose from the ground and trudged to the bathroom. Tossing his soiled clothes into the hamper, he stood under the shower. The scalding water didn't comfort him in the slightest. He brushed his teeth, shaved, combed his hair, and stepped out.

Moving around the room, he picked up his wand from the bedside table and waved it, muttering spells under his breath. The lamp fixed itself and carefully stood back in its original position. The pillows sewed themselves back together, stuffing and all, and flopped on to the bed. The scratch marks in the carpet and the walls slowly disappeared, and he looked around the room.

It was as though his nightmare had never happened. It was as though nobody had been in that room at all, the previous night.

A madman's face flashed before his eyes, a hissing sound filled his ears, and he swallowed thickly. It was getting out of control. He'd been able to keep his nightmares in check by downing vials of dreamless sleep potions or Firewhiskey. He'd been able to pretend like his hallucinations had never occurred by choosing to ignore them and distracting himself. He'd been able to pretend like everything was fine by focusing on work and the kids and anything else. But after the events of the previous day, he had been under the misconception that he had found closure, and had let his nightmares go scott-free.

And now he was paying dearly for it. He scratched his arm and winced as sharp pain shot through him. Looking down, he eyed the long, bleeding scratch marks on his arms and legs and sighed.

He could no longer ignore the fact that his nightmares were slowly eating away at his sanity and ruining his life. Somehow, when Ginny and the kids were around, he was able to function normally, and the nightmares didn't affect him as much. But as soon as he was away from them… it was like a rabid animal that had broken free from its chains.

Trudging towards his study, barely noticing that he was wearing nothing but a damp towel on a November's morning, he walked towards his desk. Pulling open the drawer, he took out an envelope and a sheet of parchment, and placed them neatly on the tabletop. Sitting down on the edge of his seat, he picked up his quill, dipped it twice in the pot, touched the nib against the edge of the glass container to make sure it wouldn't drip, and placed it against the page.

He stared at the blank parchment for a long time, wondering what in hell he was supposed to write.

"Hello, I'm Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One, the Man-Who-Is-Now-Losing-His-Mind," he said in a mocking tone of voice. Gritting his teeth, he slapped his forehead and clenched his fist.

 _This is serious. Come on._

He twirled the quill in his fingers, spraying droplets of ink around. Swearing under his breath, he Scoured his desk, but in the process, knocked over the pot of ink. It crashed to the floor, staining the beige carpet a deep blue so dark it was almost black.

"Ginny is going to _kill_ me," he muttered, and felt a chill run down his spine. He whipped around, thinking he had sensed someone behind him, his heart racing.

Flicking his wand to shut the door and lock it, he muttered a few protective spells for good measure. He looked back towards the spot on the floor and saw the madman's face, now more prominent than ever, the sound of the waves filling his ears. He touched his throat, almost feeling a tingling sensation where the skeletal fingers had choked him, and swallowed thickly.

" _Tergeo. Reparo."_ He pointed his wand at the blotch on the carpet and sighed as he watched the ink retract back and then form a blob, filling the pot after it fixed itself. Leaning down, he picked the pot of ink and placed it carefully on the desk, pushing it away from the edge just in case.

He then went through the process of dipping the nib of his quill in the ink, tapping it twice against the rim, and positioning it on the blank sheet.

"OK," he said, inhaling deeply. "You can do this. Come on. It's just a damn letter."

 _A damn letter to a damn organisation with damn Mind-Healers that specialise in dealing with damned patients like you,_ his mind supplied helpfully, and he resisted the urge to slap himself.

Moving his hand to the top left corner of the page, he finally pressed the nib against the parchment. Once the ink blotted, and he couldn't dilly-dally any longer lest a hole form in the sheet, he scrawled a word.

He sat back and stared at his handiwork, feeling proud that he'd managed to take the first step. Nodding to himself confidently, he went about writing the rest of the letter.

* * *

 **9:50 AM**

Nearly three hours, and an overflowing wastebasket full of discarded letters, later, he picked up the parchment on his desk and read through the short lines for the dozenth time. Yes. This would do.

Humming to himself, he folded the page neatly and placed it in the envelope. Sealing it shut, he carefully wrote the name and address of the recipient, staring at the name for a long moment.

 _Antares. Somehow it's a really soothing sort of name, isn't it?_

 _Definitely._

"And now I'm talking to myself," he groaned as he stretched.

He whistled for Pig, waiting for about five minutes before deciding that there was literally nothing stopping him from roasting the damned bird and eating it for dinner. Grumbling to himself, he stalked out of his study and down the stairs, focusing on what he was doing and consciously keeping the horrific images from flashing before his eyes.

The last thing he needed was to trip and fall down the stairs and die in a pool of his own blood after having survived a direct Killing Curse from the greatest Dark Wizard of all time.

"Great, now I, myself, have high expectations for my own death. Just what I needed," he muttered as he stomped up to where the stupid bird was sitting on the windowsill, preening its feathers.

He thought it would at least give him the evil eye, but the bloody owl simply ignored him, and he muttered some more as he pictured different ways in which he could end the stupid ball of fluff's life. He rummaged through the cupboards and found the owl treats Ginny had splurged on the past week, and emptied the whole box on to the table.

"Come and get them," he called, and after a moment, Pig raised its head, tilted it, stared at the owl treats, and then flew them.

Grinning, Harry immediately put up a barrier and Pig screeched, nearly ramming into it, fluttering in place angrily. It squawked at him and he rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, I am threatened by you in all your half-foot-high glory. Here." He held out the envelope and Pig eyed it disdainfully.

Harry raised the barrier slightly, and just as the bird turned towards the treats, put it back down. He shrugged and grinned when Pig fixed wide, accusing eyes on him and shook the letter.

"Still going to be _pig_ -headed?" he asked, and the owl clucked reproachfully. It finally took the letter from his hand and he pulled his fingers away just before the stupid bird managed to nip or claw at him.

"Who's the smarter one, now, eh?" He waggled his eyebrows, and he could swear that Pig rolled its eyes. The owl turned towards the snacks and Harry shrugged.

"Your mouth's full. How about you go empty it and come back?"

Pig squawked angrily from around the letter and took off—but not before leaving a nicely sized pellet on Harry's coat that was hanging on the chair.

"Right, now even an _owl_ is outdoing me." He Scoured the poo and made a face as he picked up the jacket.

"Might as well wash it, seeing as I have nothing better to do."

He whistled a happy tune as he made his way out of the living room, ignoring the way the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end or how he felt as if someone was watching him.

* * *

 _There was an incessant scratching sound coming from somewhere. He groaned and clapped his hands on his ears, trying to get rid of the sound, but the more he didn't want to hear it, the louder it got. Unable to handle it, he opened his eyes, intent on finding the source of the sound, but what he saw made his blood run cold._

 _He was staring at himself, or what had been him a decade ago. The younger him was stuck to the ceiling above, staring down with lifeless eyes. He suddenly realised after a moment that it wasn't his younger self that was upside down, but it was_ him _that wasn't the right side up. He tried to move, but found that he was tied to a rough surface behind him, unable to budge even an inch._

 _He wasn't sure where they were, but he felt like he was underground, because of the dankness and the pungent, earthy smell. Plus, the surface beneath his fingertips felt like soil and the ropes that bound him oddly felt like roots. Where the hell was he?_

 _The longer he struggled, the faster he felt breathless, and he had to rest for several moments before trying again. After what seemed like ages of struggling, he decided to stop because he was starting to feel faint. It was as though there wasn't enough air where they were._

 _The scratching continued and he realised that his younger self was digging his nails into the ground. He continued to watch, the grating sound filling his head with a low buzzing. The scratching stopped and he looked up to see that his younger self was staring right at him. Unnerved and completely disconcerted, he struggled some more, trying to escape this thoughtless form of torture._

 _After a moment, his younger self opened his mouth and said in an eerie, hollow voice, "How does it feel to be buried alive?"_

* * *

 **12:13 PM**

He woke up gasping for breath and drenched in sweat. Groaning, he slammed a fist on the bed and draped his other arm over his eyes. He'd downed a whole vial of Potion for Dreamless Sleep and he'd _still_ had a nightmare.

"It's almost as if _I'm_ the one that can't let them go," he muttered as he tried to calm his racing heart and stabilise his breathing.

He lay on the bed for a long time, and when he felt like he had enough strength to stand, he rolled out from under the sheets and rose slowly to his feet. Dragging himself to the bathroom, he splashed his face, revelling at the coolness of the water against his burning skin.

Sighing, he slowly raised his head and looked into the mirror, jerking back when he thought he saw a figure behind him. Forcing himself not to look over his shoulder, he stared at his reflection and said through gritted teeth, "Calm down. It's just another hallucination. Your mind just likes playing tricks on you."

When his reflection only stared back at him resolutely, he muttered, "Get your shite together, mate."

He plodded out of the bathroom and lumbered down the stairs, stifling a yawn and groaning. He was as exhausted now as he usually was after a particularly strenuous mission.

He'd just reached the bottom when he heard a rattling from the living room. Stopping dead in his tracks, he reached for his wand and realised he'd left it upstairs.

Swearing under his breath, he listened intently, hearing a soft, scratching sound. He debated whether to go after the intruder or leave them be till he went and retrieved his wand, and after a minute of going back and forth, decided the latter was the better choice. A sharp rapping sound came from the living room as he slowly stepped backwards, but before he could turn and run up the stairs, an undeniably familiar squawk filled the quiet house.

Slumping against the railing, he shook his head. Of _course_ it was just Pig. What had he expected? _Stupid, stupid._

Running a hand through his hair, he strode into the living room, staring intently at Pig and ignoring the way his skin broke out in gooseflesh.

"I see you're helping yourself," he said as he snatched the letter from the table before Pig could reach it, and the owl snapped its beak at him. Pig stared at him for a moment longer before turning back to the snacks. He snorted as he opened the envelope and pulled out the crisp, neatly folded sheet of parchment.

He eyed the fancy, elegant writing on the front of the envelope as he unfolded the letter, and turned to read what it said.

 _Greetings, Mr Sandford, and thank you for writing to us,_ he read silently as he sat down in one of the armchairs and made himself comfortable. He'd used an alias just as Neville had instructed, but hadn't expected a response this fast.

He scanned the rest of the letter idly, stifling a yawn as he settled back in the armchair, sleep tugging at his exhausted mind.

Unable to keep himself awake any longer, and enjoying the warmth of the afternoon rays that poured in through the window, he slowly drifted off, his last thought being that he was glad he'd finally found someone who'd help get rid of his nightmares.

* * *

 **A/n: I felt like this chapter was sorta extreme but necessary because otherwise he would've just continued to pretend like he didn't need help. And now finally the Antares Arc begins! Huzzah! Now this story's going somewhere.**

 **Thank you for all the follows, favourites, and reviews!**

 **I also wanted to mention that I _have,_ in fact, done research before writing this story [my OCD wouldn't have it any other way] and have consulted a lot of skilled writers regarding things that occur in this story and have only written things that are plausible. Thought I'd mention this just in case any of you have doubts regarding certain things. I also have two very skilled betas, so if something isn't plausible, they discard the idea before it even gets through to the Doc Manager.**

 **Thank you for reading!**

 **P.S. if there's something that caught your eye that you thought could've been written some other way, please review and let me know, I live off of constructive criticism. But if you're just hating, then please don't. Thanks!**

 **Lots of love~**

 **Arty.**


	10. 10 Lies: Antares

**A/n: So sorry for the late update! College and real life are keeping me unbelievably busy so my update speed is going to be slow. Sorry! Anyway, without further ado, Antares!**

* * *

 **Chapter 10**

 **Antares**

* * *

 **[6 November 2011]**

 **10:30 AM**

He jerked upright as a young man wearing a red scarf entered the Muggle café. Waiting with bated breath, he watched as the man walked towards him, but before he could reach the back, a woman called out to him. Disappointed, he slumped back in his seat and eyed his watch reproachfully.

 _Half past ten. He's late._

Sighing, he called for a waiter and ordered a cup of black coffee. The girl who'd served him before arrived with his order five minutes later, shooting him an odd look as she replaced the empty cup on the table with the full one. He thanked her, and she bustled away, greeting the customer who had just walked in. Picking up his coffee, he eyed the overcast sky from his seat by the window and wondered if it would start raining again. He had been soaked by the time he had found the café half an hour earlier.

He was just about to bring the cup to his lips when the chair opposite his was pulled back, and a mellow, female voice addressed him.

"I'm awfully sorry for my tardiness, Mr Sandford, but it was pouring cats and dogs and it took me the longest time to hail a taxi."

Barely managing not to spill the scalding liquid on himself, he gingerly placed the cup back and stared up at the pretty blonde who had her hand outstretched towards him. She raised her eyebrows when he didn't take it, and he blustered, grabbing it and shaking it awkwardly. She smiled as she settled in her seat and beckoned to the same brunette waitress.

"I'd like a cup of tea, please."

"Of course. How would you like it, Ma'am?"

"Black, thank you."

The girl nodded and walked away, but not before throwing a suspicious glance in his direction.

In order to match his alias, he'd taken the opportunity to test his spell-casting skills for the occasion. He had used glamour to turn his hair a dull brown with wisps of grey in it, added wrinkles and freckles to his face, covered his scar, and changed his eye colour to a light hazel. He'd chosen to wear a rather tattered-looking trench coat that was a size too big over a pistachio-green shirt, grey pants and suspenders to complete his disguise.

All in all, he looked like a very suspicious middle-aged man who had ordered for nothing but three cups of black coffee in the past half hour. And now had a lady companion who was much too pretty to be accompanying someone shady-looking like him.

Said lady companion was currently introducing herself, but he was preoccupied by the crimson scarf wrapped around her throat.

"Camilla McMahon?" he repeated, and she titled her head in the slightest, her smile widening.

"Yes, that would be me. And you're Mr Sandford, as your letter indicates." She pulled out a letter from her purse and placed it neatly on the table. He stared at the envelope and watched as she pulled out a file and placed it beside the letter.

"What's that?" he asked her, and she clicked the file open just as the waitress came over.

"One cup of tea for the lady," the girl said in a cheery tone, the complete opposite of the cold look she shot him. When Miss McMahon smiled and thanked her, the brunette blushed and scampered off.

"If I may ask, Miss McMahon—"

"Please, call me Camilla—or Cam, whichever you prefer. If we're going to do this, we need to break away the formality as much as possible."

He stared at her as she took off the scarf and placed it in her bag. In all honesty, he was still stunned that the person who'd responded to his letter was this very attractive blonde instead of the rather lumpy, balding, ordinary looking wizard he had imagined her to be. She'd signed the letter as _Healer McMahon_ , and hadn't offered his imagination much to work with. Especially since he had come across an organisation that oddly reminded him of Antares, he had had a particular image set in his mind.

The letter had instructed him to sit at the farthest table by the window in an out-of-the-way Muggle café wearing a grey trench coat. And, to make identification easier, the Mind Healer meeting with him would wear a crimson scarf. So, one thought had led to another, and he'd expected to be spending the morning with a middle-aged wizard in a suit a size too large.

Except the woman before him looked to be in her late twenties, had pale, flawless skin, piercing blue eyes, short, straight, light blonde hair, and was wearing woollen stockings and a long, fitting sweater under her over coat. Nothing at all like what he'd expected the person who'd written that formal reply to be like. The fact that someone as good-looking as her worked for a secret, private organisation was sort of…

"You seem surprised to see me," she said, drawing him out of his thoughts, and he grunted.

"Can't say I'm not."

"Is it because I'm a woman?"

He shrugged, and her eyes sparkled as she leaned forwards. "Did you not expect someone so attractive because of the work I do?"

 _I'd almost forgotten how perceptive these damned Mind Healers are._

"I suppose," he answered, feeling uncomfortable under her piercing gaze. This woman seemed like more of a diplomat or a politician than a Mind Healer, and he didn't know how he felt about having to spill all his deepest, darkest secrets to her.

"Have you tried the blueberry crumpets here? They're simply marvellous," she was saying. "I highly recommend them."

"I'm not very hungry, thanks."

She nodded as she beckoned to the waitress and ordered a plate of crumpets. "Well, where were we?" She looked at the file on the table. "Ah, yes. So, Mr Sandford, would you like to tell me a little about yourself?"

"Er..." He was suddenly lost for words despite having prepped himself, for hours, on what he would say.

As though sensing his discomfort, she began speaking again. "Oh, did you have trouble finding this place? It's rather out-of-the-way, isn't it? I like it because it has this cozy, homely sort of atmosphere. Don't you agree?"

"Er," he said again, startled by the sudden barrage of questions. "No, not really. It didn't take very long to find. I like their coffee."

The waitress walked up just then and, placing the plate on the table, shot him a small smile. _Huh._

"Thank you, dear," Miss McMahon—Camilla, said. The girl flushed and walked away. Camilla pushed the plate aside as she opened the file. "Well, I'm sure you have a number of questions you'd like to ask me, but before that—"

She pulled out a sheet of parchment and placed it before him. "I'm going to have to ask you to sign this agreement form."

"Step One?" he asked, staring at the bold lettering.

"Yes, this is the first of the many forms you're going to have to sign if you decide to consult with us. It's only the initial ones that are important and need to be read carefully. The later ones that come during our sessions will be standard agreement forms."

He nodded, skimming through the form. "And what exactly does Step One entail?"

"Due to our stringent confidentiality policy, we have a set of precautionary forms to preserve the secrecy of our organisation. Step One entails that, by signing this form, you accept the terms and conditions put forth in the form and that every word we exchange from this point on shall strictly remain between us."

"It says here that I'm going to have to sign another form after you give me an introduction?"

"Yes, again, for the same reasons as I just mentioned, we have to follow strict protocol through the course of the introduction. So that, if you were to decide to walk away, you can do so without any complications or consequences."

He nodded, impressed by the level of diligence. "So I just sign here?"

"Yes," she said, placing a ballpoint pen on the table.

He stared at the Muggle pen, and then at her, and could've sworn that she was laughing at him if the expression on her face wasn't unchanging. Of course he'd have to use a Muggle pen, they were in a Muggle town, surrounded by Muggles, and he looked suspicious as it was, what would happen if he were to whip out a fancy-looking quill?

 _Lunch at the Muggle loony bin, first class, table for one._

"Right, then," he muttered, picking up the pen and pressing it to the parchment. He was about to sign his name—his _real_ name—when he caught himself just in time. His heart began to race; he was sure she'd noticed the pause, so he quickly scrawled _Harvey Sandford_ at the bottom of the sheet.

He pushed the form and pen towards her and she placed them in the file with a smile. She inserted the file into her bag, rummaged through it for a bit, and a glint of black caught his eye before she zipped it shut.

 _Recording device, huh._

A sudden thought occurred to him, and before he could stop himself, he blurted out, "I'm sure all your clients use aliases when they first correspond with you, right?"

She looked up with a curious expression. "Actually, we recommend that they do. A lot of them retain their aliases through the course of their consultation, no matter how long it is. That allows them the freedom to go about their normal lives and doesn't tie them to us in any way other than their pseudonyms."

He nodded. "So, I was curious, and you don't have to tell me if you can't, confidentiality and all, but how do you keep track of your clients if they're using aliases? What if someone else finds out and uses the same alias to contact you?"

Camilla had a sort of smug smile on her face, as though she was secretly proud of him for asking questions, and said, "Well, to be honest, nobody's ever asked me that. So I'm not entirely sure if I'm breaching protocol by telling you this, but I guess it doesn't matter either way—the parchment you're asked to sign on is enchanted so that it remembers your magical signature. This parchment here is the only sheet you will be signing should you decide to go forth with this. Once each step has been completed, the form changes to that of the next step, hence recording your signature at every turn. This is a fool-proof method, if I say so myself."

He hummed, thoroughly impressed. _These people have put some serious thought into all of this._ "So, if by some chance, someone else were to use my signature, the parchment would automatically record their magical imprint, recognise that it isn't the same as mine, and you'd be able to handle the situation immediately?"

"Precisely," she replied, her smile wide. "Is there anything else you'd like to know?"

He shrugged, relaxing now that he knew there wouldn't be any chance for funny business so far. "Not really."

"Well then, let's move on. I'm sure you want to know who we are, and what Antares is all about."

When he nodded, she continued, "Antares is a private organisation that was established five years ago by a certain wizard who was very keen on helping magical folk in need. He trained as a Healer shortly after leaving Hogwarts and chose to branch out as a Mind Healer who specifically dealt with war trauma. Since his patients didn't want their identities to be revealed, he'd meet with them in private and provided consultation whenever requested.

"When what used to be three or four clients slowly started to increase to nearly a dozen or so, he realised that it was impossible to help them all on his own and started recruiting other Mind Healers who shared the same beliefs and ideas as him. Thus, a sort of unofficial private organisation was started, and within three years' time, more and more magical folk from around the world started to consult us, forcing us to branch out from just patients who suffered from war trauma to patients who suffered specific ailments of the mind.

"Two years later, the organisation became official under the name Antares, but continued to keep its status as a semi-secret, private organisation as the witches and wizards who consulted us preferred it to be that way. Now, we are an international organisation that continues to help magical folk like you while keeping our existence, as well as your needs, under wraps."

She took a deep breath and smiled expectantly at him as she waited for everything to sink in. He sifted through the information, recollecting older knowledge regarding an organisation that sounded much like this one, and realised it might be the same. Wondering how many years it was since Neville started consulting them, he asked, "How long have you worked for Antares?"

"I have been working for Antares for about seven years, now, and am one of the senior consultants of the organisation," she replied proudly.

Impressed, he picked up a crumpet and bit into it, humming at the explosion of blueberry in his mouth despite the fact that it had gone cold. "This is good."

Camilla grinned. "I told you so, didn't I?"

He leaned back and relaxed as she started to narrate the story of how she had stumbled upon the café, and he felt he may have judged her a little too quickly. Maybe she'd be able to help him after all.

* * *

 **1:13 PM**

He watched the taxi Camilla was in till it was out of sight, and stood staring at nothing in particular for a long moment. Since he'd received her letter the previous evening, he'd spent all of his time thinking of what he should say and do when they met, and concocting all sorts of laughable and implausible worst-case scenarios in his head. So much so that he hadn't bothered thinking about what he'd do _after_ he met her.

 _I should seriously put more thought into future planning._

Walking down the footpath, he looked around idly, taking in the bustling Muggle town in all its glory. He hadn't really paid it much attention on his way to the café because of the rain and him getting lost, but now that he had nothing better to do, he decided that he might as well take a walk and get his thoughts straight.

Even though it was cloudy and chilly, there were people out on the streets, going about their business as usual, and he sort of felt a moment's envy at their mundane lives. _Stop it,_ he scolded himself. _You wouldn't know what to do with yourself if you lived such a life._

Crossing the street, he glanced at the glass front of a shop and was mildly startled by his own reflection. He'd almost forgotten that he was in disguise, and he grimaced as his hazel-eyed, grey-haired reflection looked back at him reproachfully. Shaking his head, he continued down the footpath and let his mind wander.

There had been a point, that day, when he'd been chatting with Camilla, when he'd realised that it was all real and was actually happening to him. For a moment, he had wished he'd told Ginny about his nightmares. He yearned for her company and he just needed to know that she was somewhere close by and not halfway across the country. He wanted to come clean to her so badly, to tell her everything he was going through, and just have her wrap her arms around him and tell him it was all going to be OK and that she'd always be there for him like she had countless times before.

No sooner had the thought had crossed his mind, though, so had the realisation that telling her now would definitely be a mistake. It wasn't something he could do on the phone or by letter, or even by fire-call, and there was no way he could ask her to come all the way back just for his sake. She'd finally sounded energetic and more like herself when he'd spoken to her earlier that day, and he didn't want to ruin her trip and add to her stress by pushing his problems on to her.

He wanted to tell her, but he would wait till she got back. Besides, that way she wouldn't be as stressed or moody and might not get as angry at him for keeping it from her than otherwise.

 _Or at least I can hope._

He'd walked quite a bit, and just when he'd decided that he had absolutely no idea where he was, it started to drizzle. Cursing under his breath, he quickly jogged to a nearby florist's shop and took shelter under the canopy. Checking his watch, he decided that he could afford to wait for the rain to stop since he didn't really have anything planned anyway. After a while of staring at the grey sky, he pulled out his phone and turned it on.

Alarmed by the sudden, incessant beeping and blinking, he found that he had over half a dozen missed calls and a couple messages. Frowning, he scrolled through the list and found that a few were from work—and messages from Hermione checking in to see if he was OK and not rotting away in some corner of the house—there were a couple from the Burrow—he wasn't sure if it was either the kids or Arthur or both—and two messages from Ginny. Raising his eyebrows, he dialled her number and pressed the phone to his ear. As the call connected, his heart started to race and he began to feel uncharacteristically nervous.

 _It's just a bloody phone call to your wife. Why are you behaving like you're guilty of committing some heinous crime?_

"Hello? Harry?"

He jumped slightly when he heard her voice and greeted her a little too enthusiastically.

"Harry? Can you hear me? What's going on? Where are you?" Ginny yelled, and he could barely hear her over all the disturbance in the background.

"Oh, nothing, I saw your messages so I thought I'd call you. What's with all the noise?" he said loudly, shooting an apologetic look towards the owner of the shop as she glared at him.

Walking a little away from the front of the store, he pressed a finger to his other ear and tried to make out what Ginny was saying.

"Gin, I can't hear you! There's too much noise!"

"What? I can't hear you! Wait, let me call you back!"

Before he could reply, the line went dead, and he stood staring at the blank screen. A few minutes later, as promised, Ginny called him back, and this time it was much quieter.

"Can you hear me now?"

"Yeah, I can. Where are you?"

"Oh, I woke up late this morning and couldn't go with the Harpies to the practice pitch, so I decided to finish up some other work…" she paused, and he heard her speaking to someone else. After a moment, she was back on line. "Yeah, so now I'm trying to get to the pitch but you won't _believe_ the crowd thronging the gates! I've been stuck here for a good three quarters of an hour, now! I only just managed to wean myself out to call you."

"Can't you just show them your pass?" he asked as he stuck his hand out from under the canopy and felt the cold drops splatter against his palm.

"Like they care! Plus, it'll be dangerous if these crazy fans manage to sneak in behind me. I'm just going to have to deal with it till the wizard in charge of security gets here."

"Alright."

"So, how are you? How was work? Did you finish that thing you had?"

"Oh, yeah, it didn't turn out the way we planned, but the higher ups are pleased nonetheless, so I guess what's done is done."

"That's good." For a moment, he thought she'd ask him more, but, to his surprise, she didn't. Instead, she asked, "Have you been to see the kids, yet?"

"Not yet. I just got free. I'll go pick them up later today."

"Why? Fleur'll be staying till next weekend, right? Why not just let the kids spend time with little Lou and Nicki? They'll have nothing to do at home, anyway, and you'll have more peace of mind that way."

"Yeah, I guess…" he trailed off, his heart pounding in his chest. His mind was pushing him to tell her about the nightmares and Antares, but he was forcing himself not to.

"Harry? Is everything OK?"

"Yeah, everything's fine. I'm just exhausted from work, that's all."

"Why don't you go spend the afternoon over at Ron and Hermione's? You haven't seen Ron in a while, yeah?"

"Maybe I will…"

She asked him to wait for a moment and he listened to her converse with someone else, and just as she started to say something to him, he blurted out, "Ginny, there's something I have to tell you."

There was a pause, and then—"What is it?"

Heart racing, he swallowed and wondered if it really was such a bad idea to tell her right then and get over with it. Maybe she wouldn't have much time to think about it, and he'd be able to convince her that it wasn't that big of a deal and that he had it under control.

"Harry?"

 _Yeah, right._

"No, never mind. It's not important. I'll tell you once you get home. It's just something that cropped up at work. So, how're things there?"

"Oh, the wizard in charge of the west gate just appeared with a whole battalion of guards. They're sending away the crowd. I'll be able to go in once the guards are sure no one managed to sneak in."

"That's good. Listen, Ginny—"

"Oh, I'm getting another call! Sorry, sweetheart, I'll talk to you later, OK? Bye! I love you!"

"Oh, alright. Bye," he said, but she'd already disconnected the call. He raked a hand through his hair.

He turned to see that the owner of the shop was pulling down the shutters, and sighed. Looking around, he saw that there were barely any people on the streets, now, and wondered if he should just go back home. It wasn't like he had anything to do, anyway. He watched the rain for a while, replied to some of his messages, and then checked the time.

This was going nowhere.

* * *

 **4:22 PM**

"Daddy!"

"Hi, pumpkin!" He picked Lily up and twirled her around, laughing as his daughter squealed with delight.

"Me next! Me next!" Albus said, holding his arms out and jumping up and down.

"Alright, alright. Let Daddy come in, first." He put Lily down and ruffled Albus's hair. "Where's Jamie?" he asked, looking around when he didn't spot the older boy.

"Jamie and Nicki and Little Lou's helping Auntie Flu clean the attic!"

He couldn't help but grin at how Lily pronounced Fleur's name. She couldn't say _Fleur_ the way Fleur, and everyone else, did, so she switched between Auntie Flu and Auntie Floor. It was a running gag in the family.

"Lily, Little Lou isn't little for you 'cause you're littler," Albus was explaining to his sister, but Lily didn't seem to be listening.

"Little Lou is Little Lou!" she yelled, prancing around. "And you're little, too! Little Al!"

"No!" Albus shouted, grabbing Lily's arm. "I'm not little!"

Lily screamed and slapped Albus's hand away, and Harry had to stand in between them to make sure a fight didn't break out.

"OK, OK, come on, you two, no fighting. Can you tell me where Grandma is, Lily?" He turned to his daughter as he held Albus back.

Albus stuck his bottom lip out and crossed his arms, sulking. Harry hid a smile as Lily turned in a slow circle, apparently looking for her grandma.

"She's out _there_ ," Albus finally said, pointing a finger towards the back garden, and Lily ran to the kitchen door and peered out.

"Gram'ma! Gram'ma! Daddy, I found Gram'ma!"

" _I_ found Gram'ma!"

"Al," Harry chided gently as he led his pouting son towards the garden.

"But why _always_ Lily?" Albus demanded, looking up at Harry with an angry frown. " _I'm_ here, too!"

 _Oh boy._

"I know, Al, but she's your baby sister, isn't she?" he tried to reason, but Albus huffed adamantly and looked away.

Biting back a sigh, Harry picked him up and sat him down on the kitchen counter. Looking over his shoulder to make sure Lily hadn't tripped and fallen on her way to her grandparents, he turned back to his son.

"Al," he said, but Albus refused to look up at him. "Al, come on, look at Daddy."

"Don't wanna!"

He stared at his son's head and sighed. Well, this was what he got for not spending enough time with his kids.

"Al, c'mere." He hugged the boy, and Albus struggled for a moment before settling against Harry's chest.

Harry held him for a long minute before Albus whispered in a muffled voice, "I missed you, Daddy."

Inhaling sharply, he felt a lump form in his throat. Pressing a kiss to his son's head, he said, "I missed you, too."

Albus pulled back and stared at his hands, sniffing. Harry felt his heart break.

"Hey, Al, how about you and I go flying? You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Albus instantly perked up and stared at Harry wide-eyed, anticipation and excitement glimmering in those emerald orbs so similar to his own.

"Really?" Albus asked, and Harry nodded.

"Really."

"You'll take me flying? On your broom? Like we used to?"

"Yup. Just like we used to."

"Yay! I'm gonna go tell Jamie!"

Before he could stop his son, Albus had already jumped off the counter and was racing up the stairs.

"No running up the stairs!" he heard Fleur's voice call, and, shaking his head, he walked outside to where Molly and Arthur were lounging in the garden.

"Harry! Good to see you, my boy!" Arthur said jovially as he clapped Harry on the back.

"Good to see you too, Arthur, Molly."

"Oh, I was wondering when you'd drop by!" Molly gushed, pulling him into a tight hug and calling to Lily. "Lily, sweetheart, your daddy's here!"

"Ah, she knows already," he said as Lily came running out from behind the bushes, her arms laden with plants.

"Oh my, Lily, did you pull out Grandma's flowers again?" Molly admonished gently as the little redhead held up the flowers.

"For you, Gram'ma!"

"Why, thank you, darling. Now, let's go put them back, shall we?"

Lily nodded and Molly ushered her back to the flower patch.

"I heard about it from Kingsley," Arthur finally said once the two were out of earshot. "Terrible, simply terrible."

After a long moment, Harry replied. "Well, I'm glad they let us give him a proper cremation. He deserved that much, at least."

"Yes, definitely," Arthur said with a sad shake of his heads. "Those were such terrible times, Harry, the wars, and nobody came out unscathed, whichever side they were on."

Harry nodded solemnly as he listened to Molly and Lily laugh. "I'm just glad it's all over. We can finally have a world where our kids can grow up in peace."

Arthur hummed in agreement and hefted his pants up. "No more war."

"No more war," Harry said as he thought back to his conversation with Camilla earlier. _Now if only I could move past it…_

* * *

 **8:34 PM**

"Me and Little Lou are gonna sleep in Uncle George's room, and you can't sleep with us today, Al!" James declared as the kids strode into the living room.

Albus looked aghast.

"Can too! I'm sleeping with you, too!" he finally managed, trailing behind his brother.

"Jamie! _Stop_ calling me Little Lou! I'm _older_ than you!" eight-year-old Louis yelled, his face flushed, as he trudged in behind the two brothers.

"So?" James said, looking at Louis like he was off his rocker. " _Everyone_ calls you Little Lou."

"That's because they're _older_ than me!" Louis exclaimed, exasperated. "You're littler so _stop_ calling me that!"

James jutted his chin out and promptly went, "Little Lou!" earning a smack on the head from the older boy.

"Ow!"

"You deserved it! I _warned_ you!"

"Oh, please." Ten-year-old Dominique joined in the fray by whacking her brother atop the head and rolling her eyes at him. "So what if you're older than him? You're still _little."_

"I am _not!_ Shut _up!"_

Dominique raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms, and Louis seemed to instantly realise his mistake. He opened his mouth, making to say something, but his sister beat him to it.

" _Maman!_ Louis's using bad words again!"

Fleur's voice instantly called down the stairs, "Louis! Ne pas utiliser tel langage!"

"Je n'ai pas dit ça! Elle ment, Maman!" Louis yelled back, red in the face.

"I didn't lie!" Dominique countered, grabbing her brother and ruffling his hair with all her might.

Fleur yelled back in rapid French, and both siblings immediately simmered down, looking chastised.

Harry chuckled lightly as he watched the on-goings, sipping on his tea. _I'd almost forgotten about Fleur and her temper._

Albus sidled up to Harry and whispered, "Auntie Fleur is scary sometimes." Harry grinned as he patted his son's head, agreeing wholeheartedly.

"Alright, kids!" Fleur called as she came down the stairs. "Time for bed! Wish _Grand-mère_ and _Grand-père_ goodnight!"

All the kids groaned unanimously, but said half-hearted goodnights anyway and trudged up the stairs without argument. Harry held Lily's hand as they followed behind James and Albus. It had been decided that the boys would sleep in Fred and George's old room and Lily would sleep with Fleur in Ginny's old room, when the kids had arrived two days ago, and Harry was to spend the night in Percy's old room.

Once the kids were all settled in, he switched the lights off and was about to go downstairs when Molly called up the stairs.

"Harry, darling? I think Fleur accidentally stashed a pile of my cookbooks in Ron's room when she was cleaning the attic. Would you be a dear and get them for me?"

"Of course." He carefully made his way to the top, making sure to avoid the especially creaky stairs. _Should fix this lot again._

He fumbled around in the dark as he tried to turn on the lights, and then deciding that he couldn't be bothered, muttered, " _Accio cookbooks."_

For a moment, nothing happened, and he was about to say the spell again when a box flew straight at him, hitting him in the gut and sending him sprawling across the floor. He groaned as he pulled himself up and dusted his clothes. Muttering about cookbooks and better control over spells, he'd just started down the stairs when there was a creak behind him.

Whipping around, he shifted the box in his arms and pointed his wand before him, murmuring a quiet _Lumos_ and waiting for something to jump out at him. A shiver ran down his spine, and he felt like there was something in the shadows, but before he could check, a stair creaked. He snapped around, wand brandished, only to come face to face with a bewildered Fleur.

"I heard something fall, so I came to check," she said, alarmed, and he dropped his hand.

"I couldn't see, so… sorry," he said sheepishly, and she gave him a weird look.

"Better get those to Molly." She took the box from him and made her way down the stairs—but not before shooting him a look over her shoulder.

Taking in a deep breath, he tried to calm his racing heart, and, clutching his wand tightly, lumbered down. It seemed like he would have to put up Muffling Charms on the bedroom door again, that night.

* * *

 **A/n: So what do you think of Camilla? I absolutely _adore_ her. She was sort of inspired by my OC from Lithium, Renée Herington, but as I developed her character, she took several turns for the better.**

 **Unfortunately, this is the last chapter that was pre-written and chapter 11 is still underway, so the next update won't be anytime soon, but the moment I have enough time to spare, I shall get down to it. Those of you who haven't followed this story because I used to update fairly regularly, you might want to subscribe to it for the above mentioned reason.**

 **But, before I disappear for a while, I shall leave you this little sneak peek—**

 _ **"Potter?"**_

 _ **The familiar voice washed over him like a cool, soothing wave and he turned slowly on the spot, his hammering heart racing in his chest. His mind was already on overdrive, so the sight of wide, stunned silver eyes and pale, slicked-back platinum locks did nothing to placate him in his frazzled state. He opened his mouth, intending to say something, but no words made it past his lips, leaving him standing there slack-jawed and looking utterly foolish.**_

 _ **He suddenly realised that in his panic, he hadn't even disguised himself, and a sense of terror gripped at him as he stared at the wizard standing before him. The shock left him immobile, and the only thing he managed was to gasp out a single word in question.**_

 _ **"Malfoy?"**_

 **Yup, and there you have it! The other protagonist of this story has finally arrived!**

 **I shall try to get the chapter out ASAP, but I can't make any promises.**

 **Thank you for all the reviews, follows and favourites! I'm glad you guys are enjoying the story so far! Any opinions on this chapter will be welcomed with open arms, as always!**

 **P.S. special thanks to my wonderful beta, nymphxdora!**

 **Lots and lots of love~**

 **Arty xx**


	11. 11 Lies: A Fateful Encounter

**Chapter 11**

 **A Fateful Encounter**

* * *

 **[8 November 2011]**

 **[4:22 PM]**

He walked down the footpath, humming to himself. He'd ended up arriving an hour earlier than he was supposed to, and he didn't know what to do to wile away the time. The place where he was supposed to meet Camilla was on the other side of town, nowhere close to the previous one, and he was glad. He was sure that girl from last time would recognise him instantly, considering he was in the same disguise, and he didn't want to have to endure _that_ encounter again.

The Muggle town seemed busier than the last time he'd been there, and he had to move out of the way several times so cyclists or joggers wouldn't run into him. The sun was already setting and it was getting colder. He rubbed his hands together and stepped to the side as a group of women bustled past, talking in loud voices. Sighing to himself, he glanced into the window of a bakery, breathing in the pungent aroma of freshly baked biscuits and bread.

There was some sort of commotion coming from inside as he walked past, and he paused out of curiosity. The owner of the bakery—a short, plump, balding, middle-aged Muggle—seemed to be in a right state. He was bellowing at the top of his lungs as he came around the counter, a rolling pin brandished in one hand. Harry frowned, wondering what had happened, when something small barrelled into him, nearly toppling him over.

He yelped and threw out an arm to steady himself. Looking down, he came face to face with a boy who looked no older than James. His dirty blond curls and freckled nose gave him a look of innocence. There was nothing innocent about the loaf of bread in his arm or the red welt on his cheek, though, and before Harry could react, piercing blue eyes locked with his own emerald ones, and the boy pressed a finger to his lip before scrambling away.

Harry stared after the blond, nonplussed, until he disappeared around the corner. The owner had stepped out just then, screaming about dirty thieves and boys who weren't punished properly.

"Where'd that runt run off to, eh? Who's seen him, then?" the man bellowed, waving the rolling pin around rather violently. People moved away from the shop, looking wary, and Harry was about to join them when the Muggle caught his arm.

"You seen him? Brat with curly hair, huge loaf of bread 'neath his arm?"

Harry shook his head and held his hands up. The Muggle frowned at him suspiciously, but someone yelled about having seen the boy, and the man took off, waving the rolling pin over his head.

Harry watched as the Muggle passed the turn the boy had taken, and breathed a sigh of relief. Looking around quickly, he bowed his head and strode down the street, turning left where the boy had. His heart was racing, and he felt conflicted. The child had obviously stolen the bread from the store—a rather brave crime to commit with so many people around—but thinking back, he had looked like he needed it more than anybody else.

His complexion had been pale and he had looked quite malnourished; his clothes had been battered and worn, and he had looked and smelled like he hadn't bathed in days. But more than anything, it was the fact that the boy had seemed to be around the same age as James that had thrown Harry for a toss. It reminded him of when he was that age and had barely had enough to eat. But, at least he'd had a roof over his head and enough to feed himself that he hadn't had to resort to stealing.

Looking around, he found that he had come to a more residential part of the town, away from the main street. It was quieter, with trees and gardens and fences. He walked down the road and spotted a small park to the right. He hummed in thought as he walked towards the park, making as little noise as possible. Standing behind a tree, he looked around and found the boy. The blond was sitting behind a bench on the farthest side of the park, eating the bread.

He took a moment to observe the boy and get his thoughts straight. The child was definitely around seven or eight years old, and Harry's suspicions were confirmed as he watched him scarf down the bread. His appearance was even worse on second glance: he was far too thin and pale, he wore only a single layer on a cold, November's evening, and his sandals were falling apart and were too small for his feet.

Harry's instant reaction was to find out if this child was an orphan. He couldn't imagine a seven-year-old fending for himself and having to go to the extent of stealing just to eat one square meal a day.

He wanted to go up to the boy and tell him that it was alright and that things would get better, but Harry, of all people, knew how dangerous lying about something like that was. He watched the boy for a moment longer and then turned away. He wanted to help this boy. No, even if he couldn't help, he wanted to know about the child's situation. First and foremost, he wanted to make sure that the boy wouldn't have to steal again. One wrong decision was all it would take for the blond to go down the wrong path. The greatest and most feared wizard of all time was the perfect example for that.

Breathing deeply, he took several minutes to think about what he would say and do, about the different scenarios that could transpire, and if interfering really was the best decision.

"Are you here to take me away?"

He jerked to the side and exclaimed in surprise. Looking up at him with the same intense, blue eyes was the boy Harry was currently wracking his mind over. There were crumbs around his mouth and dirt everywhere else. He looked like a street boys from the back alleys of London.

"Are you here to take me away?" the child asked again, and Harry was taken aback by how clear and fearless his voice was.

"No. No, I'm not." Harry squatted down so he was at eye level with the blond and smiled tentatively. "I'm Harry."

He had thought it best to introduce himself. That way, at least he would no longer be a complete stranger, but the child seemed to have other things on his mind.

"Are you a kidnapper?" the boy asked, frowning.

"Wha—no, no, I'm not. I'm actually… I'm actually a dad," Harry blurted out stupidly.

The boy's frown deepened and Harry mentally slapped himself. _Of all the idiotic…_

"Are you a bad dad?"

Harry caught his breath at the question. He wasn't sure what to say, but he decided that his best bet was to be honest. "I don't think so, no… I might not be the best dad, but I don't think I'm a bad one."

The boy didn't look too convinced. They continued to stare at each other until Harry began to feel very self-conscious and uncomfortable. He was about to say something when voices sounded around the corner. The blond snapped his head around, looking panicked.

"Come on," Harry whispered, grabbing the child's hand and quickly making off in the opposite direction.

They circled around the park and reached an alleyway that led back to the main street. He couldn't hear the voices anymore, and decided that they were fine—for now.

"What's your name?" he finally asked the boy, looking down at him with a smile.

The child immediately dropped his hand from Harry's grasp and stepped back. Harry held his hands up and tried to look as un-threatening as possible. The boy shook his head.

"You look like the kidnapper my dad told me about."

 _So he's got a dad. Well, that's one question answered._

He'd forgotten that he was still in disguise. Wracking his brains, he tried to come up with an answer that wouldn't cause the boy to run away. Deciding it was all or nothing, he reached up, pressed a finger to his lips, and said in a low voice, "This is a secret that you can't tell anybody." The boy stared at him. "I'm actually in disguise right now because I'm on a top-secret mission."

He fingered his wand inside the sleeve of his coat and brought down the glamour on his face as he pretended to peel off a mask. The boy's eyes widened and he took several steps backwards, looking frightened.

 _Well, that backfired._

There was the sound of laughter and Harry quickly recast the glamour as he looked over his shoulder. He saw someone peering around the corner into the alley, but whoever it was quickly hid when they noticed Harry looking their way. He frowned as his Auror training kicked in, and his first thought was that he had to get away. The unknown person might be after _him,_ not the boy, so the faster he left, the better the chances that he could keep the child from getting involved. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a few crumpled notes of Muggle money and held them out to the boy.

"Listen, I have to go, but I want you to go buy yourself some actual food. OK?"

The boy stared at the money wide-eyed, as though he couldn't believe what he was seeing. The voices drew closer and Harry quickly stuffed the notes into the child's hand and ushered him down the alley. He watched as the boy stood rooted to the spot, staring at the money in his hands, disbelief clear on his face. Harry glanced towards the far end of the alleyway and spotted the suspicious figure once again. He turned away and picked up a pebble. Transfiguring it into a piece of paper, he pulled out his Self-Inking Quill and scribbled his name and number on it.

"Here, this is my number. If you find yourself in trouble, call me."

The boy stared at the paper with a dazed expression, and Harry tutted impatiently. He reached over and placed the paper in the pocket of the boy's shirt and patted it.

"Look, that fellow's probably still looking for you," Harry said, shaking the boy's shoulders gently in an attempt to get his attention. "I'll give him the money for the bread, but I want you to promise me that you won't steal again."

The child stared up at him, blue eyes conflicted, and said, "But what if I'm hungry?"

"Well…" Harry trailed off, unsure of what exactly to say. "Alright, here's some more money. If you're _really_ hungry, then go _buy_ yourself some food. Don't steal it."

He handed the boy a few more crumpled notes and coins. The blond stared at it and slowly shook his head. "I can't take this."

Harry frowned. "Why not?"

"My dad always says never to take favours from people you can't pay back. I can't pay you back, mister."

Harry felt a lump form in his throat and he smiled gently. "It's alright. Think of this as an early Christmas present."

"Christmas?" the boy whispered, a look of awe on his face. "I've never got a Christmas present before."

Harry knew exactly how the boy felt; he himself remembered being seven and watching his cousin and the other children get tons of presents for Christmas, while he never got any.

"There's always a first time, right?" he said, patting the boy's hair. The child ducked his head and nodded.

After a moment, he looked up at Harry and smiled tentatively. "Thanks, mister."

"You're welcome." The sound of laughter grew louder, and Harry looked over his shoulder. The person who had been spying on him seemed to have decided that whatever they had planned on doing wasn't worth the risk, because they were quickly walking away from the alley. He debated if he should follow after them before checking his watch and realising that it was almost time for his appointment with Camilla. "Look, I really have to go, but make sure you get yourself a proper meal, alright?"

"Alright." The boy nodded and grinned.

Harry felt a warm feeling settle in his stomach. He remembered the day when Hagrid had come and taken him away, and couldn't help but wonder if he had managed to make this little boy half as happy as he had been. Ruffling the boy's hair affectionately, he started to walk away, when the child called, "I don't think you're a bad dad, mister!"

He grinned and waved at the boy. "Thanks. And it's Harry, not mister."

The boy nodded. "My name's Dan. Dan Grant."

"I'm Harry. Harry Potter. I'll see you around, then, Dan Grant."

"See you around, Mr Potter!"

He watched as the boy waved and took off, nearly running into the Muggle women who had finally reached the alleyway. They yelled at Dan, who stuck his tongue out at them before running off. Harry laughed and shook his head as he walked to the main road. He checked his watch again and decided that he would still be able to make it if he speed-walked.

On his way, he took a slight detour to a certain bakery where he bought a muffin and paid quite a bit more than necessary.

* * *

 **4:37 PM**

He stared up at the rather large building before him, taking in the ordinary white and glass exterior and the large, green plus sign in the middle. There was no name, it just said 'Clinic' in big, shining green lettering across the front. It looked like an ordinary Muggle hospital for all intents and purposes.

Scratching his chin, he followed a mother and son through the sliding glass doors while wondering if he was in the right place. He paused at the entrance and looked around, trying to see if he could spot someone who could help him.

To his left was the reception area, with a long, curved, white-topped mahogany desk on which were glass bowls full of sweets, notepads and pens, and two very Muggle-looking receptionists seated behind Muggle computers, chattering away on Muggle telephones. Behind them were mahogany panels and a large screen in the middle that played various medical-related things on repeat. One of the women smiled at him as he stepped away from the sliding doors and motioned towards the waiting area.

The lounge right in front of the reception desk was spacious, and rather luxurious, with plush white couches and armchairs, glass-topped coffee tables, delicate-looking plants, and a small contraption in the corner that was modelled to look like a waterfall, complete with gently trickling water. He would've thought it was magic if he hadn't know what Muggles were capable of.

Behind the waiting area was a set of stairs that led to the upper floors, and directly opposite the stairs was a spacious cubicle that had 'Pharmacy' written above it in the same green lettering. Inside were rows of shelves and cabinets that held all sorts of bottles and containers full of Muggle medication. There were several people huddled before it, holding out prescriptions, while three frazzled-looking pharmacists bustled about, pulling various bottles and tablet strips off the shelves.

In-between the stairs and the pharmacy was a long hallway that led further into the building. There were several doors, doorways and smaller corridors that led away from the main corridor, and there was always someone walking to and fro, either doctors or patients or staff members. Harry inhaled deeply and was surprised that, instead of the pungent smell of antiseptic that he associated with hospitals, he smelled a mild, soothing scent of flowers and freshly mown grass.

All in all, he was thoroughly convinced that he had stepped into a Muggle hospital and had probably gotten lost once again. He pulled out the letter from his coat pocket, which contained the address of the place he was supposed to meet Camilla at, and moved towards the reception desk. He waited for the receptionist to finish speaking to the mother and son who had entered before him and placed the letter on the desk.

She turned to him with a smile and asked him how she may be of assistance. He pointed at the address and asked her if he was at the right place. She glanced at the parchment and nodded slowly.

"Are you, perhaps, Mr Sandford?" she finally asked in her lilting voice, and Harry nodded.

"That would be me, yes. So I'm at the right place, then?"

"Oh, yes. Yes, you are. You're here for…?"

"Camilla—er, Miss McMahon."

"Ah, yes. One moment, please."

Harry stepped back and waited as the receptionist fumbled in the cupboard beneath the desk. He was surprised when she pulled out a device that looked almost identical to a Muggle telephone but was definitely magical, because of the way it distorted the space around it in the slightest. Intrigued, he watched as she dialled a number on it and pressed it to her ear.

"Miss McMahon? I have a Mr Sandford here to see you." She listened for a moment and then said, "Yes, I understand. I shall inform him."

She looked up and smiled at him, but before she could tell him whatever she was supposed to, he asked, "Is that a cross-tech phone?"

The receptionist nodded, holding the phone out to him. He took the device and placed it on the desk gingerly, staring at it with fascination. He'd heard about the success of the Ministerial Department for Research and Experimentation with regards to discovering a method where they could cross Muggle technology with magical devices without going haywire. Nobody had believed that it was possible, but considering the extent to which both Muggles as well as the magical folk had progressed in the field of science and technology, it had become a possibility sooner than later.

He had been present at the launching of one of the very first cross-tech devices over three years ago, but few people had supported the venture due to the sheer expense that went into research and experimentation. Most wizarding folk had been sceptical of the devices, but soon after the prototypes were launched, several patrons from across the world had decided to fund the venture. A little over a year ago, they were said to have sold over five hundred of these devices worldwide. Harry had never seen a fully functional one, so he was quite intrigued by it.

"I would offer it to you, but our staff wouldn't be too happy about that."

He looked up to see a smiling Camilla as she strode up to him, looking as elegant and professional as ever in a deep blue pantsuit that complemented her eyes and pale skin. She nodded at the receptionist and then held out her hand. "Good evening, Mr Sandford. I'm sorry for being late again."

"It's alright." He shook her hand, and she motioned towards the corridor that led into the building.

"Shall we?"

He nodded and followed after her, breathing in deeply and feeling a sense of calmness settle over him.

"What's the scent you're using in here?" he asked, and she glanced at him sideways, her eyebrows raised.

"I'd forgotten how sharp you are, Mr Sandford. We use custom-made air purifiers, here. It has a soothing effect on the patients and helps them calm down before they meet with their Healers. We have them sit in the lounge for a good ten minutes before we call on them."

She waved to the pharmacists—who only nodded in return before bustling away—and paused as they reached an intersection.

"Well, Mr Sandford, shall we?"

Harry looked at her sceptically. He wasn't sure what she meant since all he could see was a corridor before him and two on either side. She must have noticed his conflicted expression, because she seemed like she was thoroughly enjoying herself.

"After you." She motioned forwards, and he shrugged, deciding to play along with her.

The moment he moved forwards, though, he instantly knew what she meant. He shivered slightly as the warm, tingling sensation of the rather subtle Muggle-Repelling Charm swept over him, leaving his extremities feeling rather sensitive.

Although they were still standing at the intersection, it now looked almost completely different from before. The walls were covered with moving portraits, and every few feet stood short, Victorian-styled stands upon which were delicate vases. Colourful memos fluttered above his head, zooming around the corners and waiting for the lifts. Healers in billowing powder-blue robes bustled about, rapidly discussing things Harry barely understood.

But what surprised him the most was what was at the end of the hallway. It was a mirror image of the reception desk, pharmacy and waiting area that he had just passed, but this time, the magic was palpable. Where there had been computers and notepads, there were Self-Writing Quills scribbling furiously across lengthy sheets of parchment that lay rolled up on the floor, self-typing typewriters that doled out prescriptions, and the cross-tech telephones. Behind the receptionists' desk was the same mahogany panelling, except instead of a screen, there was a large banner with moving pictures on it.

Stunned, he turned around in a slow circle, drinking in the mothers reading Witch Weekly and the children playing with hovering soft toys; the same waterfall contraption in the corner of the room that now had birds fluttering around, tittering in pleasant tones, and the water changing into different fresh, fruit juices every few minutes; the pharmacy that was full of hovering bottles and jars and vials and witches and wizards yelling every time one of them knocked into them; it was chaos. But it was familiar chaos, and Harry instantly felt himself relax.

"Welcome to Antares, Mr Sandford," Camilla said with a wide grin and twinkling eyes.

"Yeah," Harry replied breathlessly, shaking his head in awe. "There're so many things I want to ask you but I suppose they'll have to wait till later."

Camille inclined her head and asked him to wait a moment as she went and conversed with the receptionist. She then motioned for him to follow her as she turned towards the lifts. As they waited, he looked up and was mildly startled to see the large, green plus sign that floated just below the ceiling, revolving slowly. _Antares_ was written across it in silver lettering, and Harry was glad to finally see something he recognised, even if it was just a name.

A disembodied voice announced the arrival of the lift and Harry stepped aside as the passengers poured out, some smiling or greeting Camilla as they passed by her. Once they were safely inside, Camilla gave him a brief run-down of everything he had seen and of where they were headed. He listened attentively, nodding every now and then when she glanced his way. She only stopped when they were in her office, and she handed him a form that had bold lettering across the top that read _Step Two._

* * *

 **[9 November 2011]**

 _He was walking down a misty path, the swirling fog sweeping along the ground as the cold clung to his ankles. Ahead, the path cut to the left and disappeared into the mist, leaving him to contemplate whether he should continue down the road or take the turn. For some reason, he felt like he needed to go left._

 _Cautiously making his way through the fog, he heard some scuffling further ahead and stopped. The sound persisted, and, being the curious person that he was, he walked on to find out if there was someone else there in the darkness._

 _A little boy sat with his knees to his chin, a broken top spinning before him. The boy snapped his head up, wide, emerald eyes sparkling behind round glasses. He stood up, tried to smooth down his unkempt hair, and then looked up at Harry._

" _Are you here to take me away?"_

 _There was something eerily familiar about the child's voice, but Harry wasn't sure what it was. He told the boy that he was lost and asked if the child knew the way out of the fog. The boy nodded and pointed down the path._

" _I'll show you the way, mister. My house is down this way, too."_

 _He let the child lead him down the misty road, and just as he was thinking they were getting nowhere, a set of stairs appeared. The boy ran up, bent down, and pulled open a cupboard under the stairs. He looked back at Harry, shot him an eerie smile, and ducked into the cupboard._

 _Harry watched as the door slammed shut, leaving him all alone in the darkness. He walked up to the door and squatted before it, wondering what to do. Unsure, he leaned back against the cupboard and closed his eyes. When he opened them a moment later, the boy was standing above him, hand stretched out, showing Harry a fistful of sweets and toffees._

" _I stole them. My cousin gets boxes of sweets every year for Christmas but all I get is one small, horrible toffee. So this time I decided to steal a box. He'll never even know it's gone, the horrible, fat boy."_

 _Harry tried to explain to the messy-haired child that stealing was bad, but the boy was adamant._

" _They make me clean and do chores. They lock me in the cupboard if they're angry and don't give me food. If I keep these sweets, then I won't have to starve the next time."_

 _The boy's eyes seemed to shine at the prospect of not having to starve, but Harry insisted that stealing wasn't the solution. The child seemed angered by Harry's constant preaching._

" _You know what it's like! They did it to you, too! Those cruel people! While my idiot of a cousin grows fat from all the custard and pudding, I have to lick toffee wrappers so my growling stomach will be silent! I'm doing nothing wrong!"_

 _Harry wasn't sure how to help this boy. He felt a weird sense of déjà vu, but he couldn't place it. Where did he know this child from?_

" _Don't you remember what it's like to be starved and beaten? Have you forgotten what it's like to be abused and treated worse than a servant boy? To hear your uncle and aunt tell people you had a mental illness and to be your cousin's punching bag at playtime? Don't you remember?"_

 _By now, the boy's voice was growing louder and louder, echoing through Harry's head. The space around him seemed to be shrinking and the boy seemed to be towering over him, furious emerald eyes glaring down at Harry. He felt claustrophobic and sick to the stomach. It was too real. The emotions were too real._

 _The boy suddenly began to scream, and Harry scrunched his eyes and ears shut as a pit opened up below him and swallowed him up._

* * *

 **7:02 AM**

He woke up feeling disgruntled and shaken. He didn't really remember all that much about the nightmare, but the lingering emotions that he felt sent shivers down his spine.

This was the first time he'd had a nightmare about his childhood abuse.

All his nightmares up till then had been about the war and death and helplessness and guilt. Nothing about what he had gone through as a child. So what had triggered this?

He sat up and rubbed his face, feeling cold and empty. This nightmare hadn't had the same impact as the most recent ones, but none of them had left him feeling as emotionally, physically and mentally drained as this one. He felt as his very life was slowly seeping out of him. He could feel the familiar tug of hunger in his stomach and it suddenly reminded him of not having enough food, and it took him all of his willpower to keep from being sick.

Forcing himself to his feet, he trudged to the bathroom, cleaned himself up, and went downstairs.

For some reason he had expected to be greeted by three energetic shrieks and his wife's warm smile, but all he saw was a quiet, empty living room. Sighing, he quickly heated up some coffee, slathered butter and jam on cold bread, and bit into an apple. He ate a muffin and drank some orange juice for good measure, but even though he was full, it felt like there was still an empty, gaping pit in his stomach.

Disconcerted, he quickly made a call to Camilla's personal number—which he had gained as a result of their long chat the previous evening. It went to voicemail and he disconnected the call. He looked around, unsure of what exactly he wanted to do, when the gnawing feeling in his stomach started to prickle. Groaning, he wondered if he'd eaten too much and decided to drink a digestive potion just in case, but a jolt of pain shot through him, and he clutched the counter, breathing in deeply as he tried to relax his tense muscles.

Something was wrong. His nightmares had never caused him any physical pain before. But no matter how much he tried to distract himself, he couldn't shake off the empty, gnawing sensation in his abdomen.

Starting to panic, he decided that it would be best to go to someone who could help him. The first person that came to mind was Camilla, and, taking in a deep breath, he focused on the image of a large, floating green plus sign and criss-crossing corridors as he spun on the spot.

He stumbled as he felt solid ground beneath his feet and used the wall to support himself. He was sweating, now, and his breath was coming out in gasps. Quickly looking around, he realised he'd landed in the middle of the adjacent corridors of Antares, just beyond the Anti-Muggle spells. Thanking his lucky stars, he staggered down the left corridor. If he was going to hyperventilate and pass out, he didn't want to do it somewhere where people could see him.

He was now panting for breath and his stomach was churning. _Stupid idea to stuff your face and then Apparate, Potter,_ he scolded himself.

Quelling the wave of nausea that swept through him, he turned right and hastened down the hallway, wondering why the hell there weren't any doors in sight. Agitated by this sudden bout of weakness, he leaned against the wall for a moment and tried to get his breathing under control. He unfocused his gaze as he concentrated on breathing in through his nose and breathing out through his mouth, and just as he was able to breathe easier, the opposite wall slid open quietly. Before he could react, someone rushed out and down the way he had come. He stared at the wall as it slid back into place, heart hammering away in his chest.

He'd hoped that whoever it was hadn't noticed him, because something about the slicked-back blond hair and immaculate white robes that he'd caught sight of as the person had rushed past was undeniably familiar. But the footsteps came to an abrupt halt and he held his breath as he heard robes rustle, and a crisp, male voice addressed him.

"Potter?"

The familiar voice washed over him like a cool, soothing wave and he turned slowly on the spot, his hammering heart racing in his chest. His mind was already on overdrive, so the sight of wide, stunned silver eyes and pale, slicked-back platinum locks did nothing to placate him in his frazzled state. He opened his mouth, intending to say something, but no words made it past his lips, leaving him standing there slack-jawed and looking utterly foolish.

He suddenly realised that in his panic, he hadn't even disguised himself, and a sense of terror gripped at him as he stared at the wizard standing before him. The shock left him immobile, and the only thing he managed was to gasp out a single word in question.

"Malfoy?"

* * *

 **A/n: Aaaaand cut! Right, so as promised, Draco the marshmallow has arrived, but this chapter sorta got too long so I had to cut it off. No worries, though, the next one's already written and in the hands of my trusty beta, so the next update will be like usual- in five days.**

 **So what did you guys think of Antares? I absolutely loved writing that bit and my favourite part of all was the contrast I painted with the Muggle side of it versus the magical side of it. Two Halves of The Same Whole (it's actually a story of mine, go check it out) and whatnot.**

 **P.S. the waterfall initially changed into chocolate and punch, but my beta told me that it was too unhealthy for a hospital so I had to change it to fresh fruit juices. Still yum, though!**

 **Let's see how many reviews I can get before the next chapter, whoop! Seriously, though, please review and let me know what you think. Constructive criticism is always welcome, but if you gonna hate, then don't bother.**

 **Lots of love!**

 **Arty xx**


	12. 12 Lies: A Morning with Malfoy

**Chapter 12**

 **A Morning with Malfoy**

* * *

 **[9 November 2011]**

 **8:15 AM**

He paced up and down the rather large room, muttering under his breath. He'd initially thought the room was a lounge of some sort, but it turned out to be Malfoy's office. Not that it surprised him; after all, this was Draco Malfoy, who, apparently, just so happened to be the founder of Antares.

Still unable to wrap his mind around the whole thing, he picked up the glass of water left for him and drank it slowly. He'd settled down remarkably fast after his momentary hyperventilation, and he didn't want to admit that it was thanks to Malfoy's quick thinking with regards to administering a Calming Draught. There was a bit of the potion mixed into his water, and he felt the subtle effect of it as he placed the glass back on the table.

He had just sat down when the door opened and Malfoy strode in, white robes billowing behind him. Harry sprang up, and, rubbing his sweaty palms on the side of his pants, stood staring at Malfoy nervously. The blond wizard simply shot him a curious look before motioning for him to take a seat. Harry nodded and sat on the edge of the plush armchair, consciously controlling his urge to bounce his knee. He was already in an awkward situation, and the last thing he needed was for Malfoy to think he was making Harry nervous.

"Er, sorry for barging in so suddenly," he said when Malfoy came up and sat on the armchair opposite his. "But I didn't expect—" he broke off, gesturing towards Malfoy and the rest of the room.

The blond tilted his head in the slightest and seemed to be scrutinising Harry with wide, shining eyes. Under his intense, piercing gaze, Harry felt like some sort of fascinating new pet added to Malfoy's collection that the man couldn't get enough of.

"It's perfectly alright," the blond finally said in a voice that was soft and soothing, and so unlike anything he'd ever heard leave Malfoy's lips, that it sent shivers down his spine and made his skin tingle. "I've instructed my secretary to reassign all my morning's work to after lunch."

Harry nodded and moved back in his seat, relaxing into the cool comfort of the leather. He breathed out a sigh of relief, caught himself, and hoped Malfoy hadn't heard or seen it. Even if he had, the blond didn't seem to care, and it left Harry feeling conflicted for some odd reason.

"So, Mr Potter," Malfoy began, drawing Harry out of his confused thoughts and, instead, leaving him wondering how long it had been since Malfoy had addressed him directly. "How are you feeling?"

Harry blinked. Malfoy smiled genially. Harry frowned. "What?"

"How are you feeling? You looked ill when I found you wandering my hallways."

It took Harry a whole, awkward minute to process that Draco Malfoy, who he couldn't stop picturing in green Quidditch robes, with a sneer on his face, on the Quidditch Pitch, yelling out insults at him, was asking _him_ _how he was feeling._

 _If this is some ridiculous dream, I would like to wake up, now,_ he told his brain, but only got snickers and giggles in reply.

"Potter?"

"Yes. Right. I'm very well, thank you." He cleared his throat awkwardly, reached for the glass of water, realised it was empty, and sat back in his seat, feeling like he was eleven again, waiting in Dumbledore's office and wondering what in hell to do with himself.

"More water?" Malfoy's smile widened and he looked like he was enjoying himself a little too much at Harry's expense.

"Yes, please." Harry cleared his throat again and sat up straight, watching as Malfoy pulled out his wand—which instantly brought back unpleasant memories for Harry—and mumbled a quiet _Aguamenti._

The glass filled with water and Malfoy Levitated it to Harry, who grabbed it out of the air a little too quickly and spilled some on the light carpet. Clearing his throat for the third time, he stared at the swirling water, refusing to look up at Malfoy lest he notice the faint tinge of red in Harry's cheeks or the tips of his ears.

 _I just remembered I'm still in my nightclothes._

Mentally slapping his forehead, he took a deep breath and gulped down the water, stopping only when he felt like he'd drunk enough of the cool liquid to stop his face from burning with embarrassment.

"Some more?" Malfoy asked, flicking his wand, but Harry shook his head.

"No, thanks." He held the glass tight in his hands and stared at Malfoy, intent on keeping himself from doing something embarrassing once again.

"Well, now that I know you won't pass out at any moment—"

 _So much for not embarrassing myself._

"—do you mind if I ask what you were doing hyperventilating in my hallways at seven in the morning?"

Harry inhaled deeply and caught his breath for a moment before blurting out, "I'm actually here to see Camilla McMahon. I assumed she would be here. I didn't realise it was too early for her to start work."

Malfoy nodded slowly, a thoughtful expression on his face, as though he was trying to decipher some hidden meaning in Harry's words, and said, "Camilla only comes to the office when she has work here. Otherwise she meets with her clients outside, like I assume she has done with you in your previous meetings."

"Oh." Harry refrained from clearing his throat and stared at his glass as he thought that through. _Maybe I should've left her a message after all._

"If I may—"

Harry looked up to see that Malfoy had risen. "If I may assist you in her place…" Harry's instant reaction was to shake his head, and Malfoy seemed to realise that he would refuse because he held up a hand and continued, "After all, that's the reason you're here this early, I presume."

He had half a mind to simply Disapparate back home and go to work and pretend none of this had ever happened, but something in the back of his mind was telling him Malfoy might be able to help. Besides, if there was anyone in the world who could understand the trauma he was going through, it had to be Malfoy, being the only other person the same age as Harry to have been directly affected by Voldemort and his madness. Maybe he had suffered through nightmares, too, like Harry had after the war. And although Malfoy had made his life miserable throughout his years at Hogwarts, Harry was quite sure he'd done the same for the man. And if the blond wizard was actually the one to have founded Antares for the sole purpose of helping people like Harry, then what harm could there be in taking the opportunity presented before him?

Inhaling deeply, he began before he could change his mind, "Actually, I'm a client of Camilla's. We've been corresponding for a week, now, and I've met with her twice, in order to sign agreement forms and the like. Our sessions haven't started officially, yet, but she was the first person I thought of, and…"

He trailed off, unsure of what else to say. Malfoy had returned to his seat and had a brooding expression on his face. After a long moment of thoughtful silence, the blond said, "I'm making a calculated guess, here, but could you perhaps be Mr Sandford?"

Harry started, and then quickly tried to mask his surprise, but Malfoy had noticed his reaction because he had sat up, a knowing look on his face. So, instead, Harry said in a strained voice, "Yes, that would be me."

"If so, then allow me to say, your spell work has advanced magnificently. I'm quite surprised that you were the person walking beside Camilla yesterday."

Harry stared; stunned and confused by the sudden compliment thrown at him, by Malfoy, nonetheless, and feeling slightly embarrassed, nodded his thanks.

"I wasn't actually sure if I wanted to see it through, to be honest," he confessed as Malfoy leaned forwards, a look of interest on his face. "But when I saw the proficiency with which Camilla handled everything, I decided it was worth the shot."

Malfoy nodded. "She's one of my best. Seeing as she chose to correspond with you, I'm assuming you're here as someone suffering from war trauma?"

Harry took a deep breath and braced himself. _You've come this far so don't back out now._ He nodded. "Nightmares, mostly."

Malfoy seemed to recoil at that, but caught himself and quickly changed his expression to a neutral one.

 _So I was right for assuming he'd had them, too._

"I see." That was all he said for a long moment before suddenly standing up and moving to the back of the room. Harry watched as Malfoy fiddled around with something, then the familiar clinking of teacups was heard, and he returned with a tray. "Tea?"

"Don't mind if I do."

Malfoy nodded as he heated the water with a tap of his wand and poured the steaming liquid into the two cups. He then slipped tea bags into them and placed one cup in front of Harry. Taking a seat on the sofa diagonally across from where Harry was seated, Malfoy asked, "Have you spoken with Camilla about your nightmares?"

Harry shook his head as he stirred his tea. "No, I haven't. I was going to do that today when I…" he shrugged and trailed of, gesturing vaguely.

Malfoy nodded once and took a sip from his cup. "You've signed how many forms, you said?"

"Two."

"Well, you'll have to sign another one to make this official. But before that, I have to ask—do you still want Camilla to be your Healer?"

Harry looked up at that and titled his head in confusion. "What? Yeah, why wouldn't I?"

Malfoy's eyes seemed to harden at that, as though something about Harry's decision was unsettling, but Harry might've just been imagining it because he continued in the same tone of voice, "I assumed otherwise since your alias and disguise have become useless, now, but if that is your decision, then I'm afraid you will have to wait until your next session with her."

Harry wasn't sure why Malfoy was making such a big deal about whether or not he wanted Camilla to continue being his Mind Healer, but he reckoned it had something to do with client-Healer confidentiality and whatnot.

"I see," Harry began, and Malfoy sat back, the same brooding expression on his face, but Harry continued. "But I don't suppose we could have this conversation off the record?"

Malfoy glanced at him with a measured expression and Harry shrugged, a grin tugging at his lips as the familiar sense of accomplishment at being a step ahead of Malfoy flitted through him. "I can understand what you're saying since we have to follow protocol while questioning witnesses, too, but since I haven't signed any forms stating Camilla is officially my Healer, this can still be considered as playing within the rules, yes?"

Malfoy had a strange glint in his eyes that Harry couldn't place, and he finally smirked, a typical, Malfoy smirk, and Harry found himself relaxing. The blond replaced his cup on its saucer and murmured, "I'd nearly forgotten whom it was I was dealing with."

Harry picked up his own cup and sipped, feeling a sense of calm settle over him as the warmth of the tea passed through him. "People tend to do that when they see someone for the first time after over a decade."

Something flashed in Malfoy's eyes, but it disappeared before Harry caught it. The blond leaned forwards and said, "Are you willing to trust me with such personal information?"

Harry stared at his tea and hummed under his breath. The implications behind that question were innumerous, but he knew exactly what Malfoy was getting it. Was he, Harry Potter, willing to spill his deepest, darkest secrets to Draco Malfoy, who had been his sworn nemesis for most of his childhood?

The answer came to him so easily that he almost laughed.

"Yes. Yes, I am."

It didn't matter who they had been or what they had done; right now, Malfoy was a Mind Healer willing to help Harry with his trauma, and Harry was a patient willing to trust that Malfoy would be able to put an end to his prolonged suffering.

And right now, that was all that mattered.

* * *

 **9:02 AM**

He looked around the room as he waited for Malfoy to return from dealing with some urgent matter. Malfoy's office was larger then Harry's living room back at home and was furnished with the most expensive-looking things Harry could think of. He'd only ever been to Malfoy Manor once, and that hadn't exactly been a visit where he could admire the décor, so he'd never really thought about _how_ rich the Malfoys were, but this certainly put the topic to rest.

The floor was covered with a soft, fur-like carpet that was cream-coloured with large, beige circles decorating it. All the furniture was made from the same dark mahogany as the panelling and furniture he'd seen in the lobby, with intricately carved designs that he couldn't really make out unless he had his face inches from it. Light-coloured wallpaper covered whatever wall was visible, with delicate patterns on it, and wall-length bookshelves stood to his left. To his right was a large desk, behind which were wide, glass windows, the only source of natural light in the room.

In-between the bookshelves and the desk were the coffee table and the sofas, where he was currently seated, and opposite him was the door, on either side of which were large paintings of scenic views and tall, elegant tables holding vases stood below them. Behind him, the room was cordoned off using those delicate-looking foldable, wooden partitions that were usually found in the bedrooms of rich noblewomen. He couldn't really see through the intricate carvings in the wooden dividers, but he could vaguely tell that it was a work area of some sort.

There were more bookshelves lining the wall opposite the work area, and even a small alcove of sorts at the far end of the room, on the other side, where pouffes and large, comfortable looking cushions stood around a low table. There were several small teapoys and side tables holding dainty vases, and even a record player that played gentle, soothing music. There was also the same subtle scent of lilacs and sage that he'd smelled in the lobby the previous evening; it left him feeling calm and comfortable, and he assumed that was the purpose with which it had been designed.

Just as he was thinking about how Hermione would love to come and spend several afternoons in there reading all the books lining the bookshelves—that he'd assumed were all medical books and the like, but had found books on economics, politics and even travel among them—Malfoy returned, looking rather harassed.

"My apologies," he said breathlessly as he adjusted his dishevelled clothes and hair. "My son was throwing a tantrum and refused to go to his pre-school without seeing me, so my wife had to bring him here before she left for work. And once he saw me, he refused to leave."

He sighed and shook his head in exasperation, but his eyes shone with affection. And for the first time since he'd run into Malfoy about an hour ago, Harry came to realise the extent to which Malfoy had grown up from being the snotty git who used to harass the daylights out of him during their time at Hogwarts to the calm, centred Mind Healer that he was.

"You have a son," Harry said matter-of-factly as Malfoy came to sit on the sofa. The blond nodded and Harry asked, "What's his name?"

"Scorpius."

Harry's brows shot up into his hairline as he desperately tried to control his laughter. Malfoy frowned and his cheeks coloured.

"It is a wonderful, powerful name."

"I never said a word," Harry managed, and he could've sworn Malfoy huffed.

"What about you?" he finally asked, probably to distract Harry from commenting on his terrific naming skills.

"I have three, actually."

"Three sons?" Malfoy asked, raising an eyebrow, but somehow Harry felt like he already knew the answer to that and was only humouring him.

"Two sons and a daughter. The oldest is James, the second is Albus, and the youngest is Lily."

"I see. Albus. Yes, a wonderful name indeed."

Harry was about to retort that his naming skills were at least better than Malfoy's, but the smile the blond shot him seemed genuine enough that he decided to let it go.

"So, how old is your son?" Harry asked, assuming he would be around two or three from Malfoy's description of the tantrum.

"Five."

Harry spluttered and immediately thought of Albus and what a gentle, well-behaved boy he was. _Well, like father like son, I suppose._

"I know what you're thinking, and I begrudgingly agree," Malfoy said stiffly.

Harry raised his eyebrows and shook his head. Never would he have thought that the day would come when he would be sitting across from Draco Malfoy, talking about their children, and hear Malfoy admit that he had been an annoying little prat back in the day. _I suppose we all have to grow up eventually, whether we like it or not._

"Well, now that we've got the most pressing matters out of our way," Malfoy said in a professional sort of voice. "Why don't we get right to it?"

He clasped his hands together and crossed his legs, placing his intertwined fingers around his knee and looking at Harry expectantly. There was an intense look of anticipation shimmering deep within the depths of those grey eyes, and Harry suddenly didn't want to have to retell the tale of his nightmares and hallucinations. He felt it might bring back bad memories not just for him, but Malfoy as well, but the other wizard continued to wait patiently, and, heart beginning to race, Harry took a deep breath and began.

"I'm sure you know what I mean when I say I'm still haunted by the past." He paused till Malfoy nodded in affirmation and then continued. "Well, I've had nightmares before; for months, after the war, but all of us had them, and we collectively figured out methods to cope. After about two years, they became less frequent and weren't as earth-shattering or heart-stopping as they used to be, and while I did lose sleep, I never used to jerk awake drenched in sweat, unable to fall back asleep."

He paused again and shook his head. Staring at the glass tabletop before him, he tried to recollect the nightmares he'd had all those years ago, but all he could hear was a shrill ringing interspersed with blood-curdling screams and pleas for help. He closed his eyes and breathed, trying to calm his racing heart. Malfoy sat silently and waited for him to continue, not even moving a muscle.

"After a point, I think it was when Ginny was pregnant, they stopped altogether. I used to stay awake some nights, just waiting for them to come, but they never did, and I would just lay there staring at the ceiling and feeling restless."

He caught Malfoy nodding from the corner of his eye and somehow that placated him. Taking a deep breath, he continued.

"But all of a sudden, less than a month ago, they randomly came back in full force. I don't know what triggered it; I suppose it could've been the stress from work or because Ginny and I had been quarrelling for the silliest of reasons, so I used to always sleep rather restlessly, and then one night, I was jolted awake by a nightmare—and they just kept getting worse since then."

Malfoy quietly Summoned parchment and a Self-Writing Quill, and Harry paused as he listened to the scratching sound of the quill against the parchment. After a long moment, when he hadn't continued, Malfoy spoke up.

"Are you sure that the nightmares returned randomly, out of the blue?"

Harry glanced sideways at the blond, but neither his tone of voice nor the expression on his face gave anything away.

"Well… I guess they weren't completely random. Like I said, the stress from various things and my restless sleep may have triggered them."

"I see." Malfoy placed a finger to his chin and looked towards the quill and parchment. The quill paused mid-stroke, hovered in the air for a moment, and commenced writing at an even faster pace. Malfoy continued to stare at it as though he was mentally dictating whatever it wrote. After a moment, he turned back to Harry, eyes like liquid silver, and asked in a soft voice, "Do you remember what the first nightmare was about?"

He frowned in thought as he tried to remember. He could vaguely recollect that some of his earliest nightmares had had vivid sceneries; like oceans of lava or grey prairies, but he couldn't actually remember what the first one had been.

"I'm… not sure," he admitted finally, and Malfoy nodded as though he'd reckoned as much. "Why? Do you think it means something?"

" _Everything_ means something in my profession, Potter," Malfoy said matter-of-factly, and Harry bristled.

"Yes, well, does it mean something specific in relation to _me_?"

Malfoy looked up from reading what the quill had written and gave Harry an endearing sort of look. "I'm not entirely sure if it holds any meaning other than the obvious, but—"

"And what's the obvious?"

Malfoy tilted his head, his eyebrows furrowed in the slightest, as though he was reprimanding Harry for being so impatient and cutting him off before he could finish. "The obvious is that your nightmares weren't sudden at all; you just didn't realise you'd been having them."

Harry scowled. That didn't make sense. How could he not realise that he'd been having nightmares?

Malfoy seemed to discern Harry's confusion, because he looked rather smug as he asked, "Tell me, Potter, have you had any particularly… _striking_ dreams, lately?"

Harry sat up and licked his lips. "Well, last night I had this nightmare about—"

Malfoy cut him off. "No, not nightmares. _Dreams."_

Harry frowned. "What's the difference?"

Malfoy pulled his shoulders together at that and pursed his lips. It reminded Harry of the time he'd asked Hermione a question on some research she'd been doing. She hadn't been too pleased with him and called him ignorant for not knowing such a simple thing. He'd never understood why she had gotten mad at him.

"While dreams and nightmares are essentially figments of our subconscious minds," Malfoy began in the same professional tone of voice, "dreams are mostly disjointed images and scenes created from emotions we have felt and things we have experienced previously. Not all dreams have much significance to a person's routine, daily life as they occur normally during the REM cycle whether the person is aware of it or not. Most often than not, many people don't remember their dreams, but for light sleepers or people who sleep restlessly, or if one were to awaken while they were dreaming, they may momentarily retain the memory of their dream.

"Nightmares, on the other hand, are more disturbing dreams that contain emotions and experiences that have impacted the person in a more negative way. Nightmares are more common among children and affect them more strongly than they do adults, but if they continue to persist, whether among children or adults, and affect them during wakefulness, then the cause for the nightmares need to be found, and the person must be helped to overcome that negative aspect that is eating away at them. In your case, your nightmares stem from your war trauma."

"Yes, that's great, but that doesn't answer the question as to why you think they weren't random or sudden," Harry said, impatient.

Malfoy's mouth was so thin a line, it was almost non-existent. "I see that somethings never change."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry demanded, and Malfoy shot him a look.

"You never listen when someone's talking. I clearly answered your questions, yet you say I didn't."

"When? You never said—"

"Potter, you said you used to sleep restlessly. The reason for that were your nightmares. They must have disturbed your sleep enough so that it wasn't restful, but not enough that they awakened you or caused you to panic."

Harry frowned as he realised that Malfoy had, indeed, answered his question the first time around. _Now I know why Hermione gets so mad at me._

"OK," he said slowly, "so my nightmares weren't sudden, but what caused them to return?"

Malfoy nodded as though he was glad Harry was _finally_ on the same page as him, and said, "That needs figuring out."

And he didn't say anything else. He simply watched as the quill moved across the parchment, reading what was written and making changes when needed.

"So, I'm guessing you won't be the one to help me figure that out."

Malfoy looked at him in a way that Harry looked at his kids when they were being particularly exasperating and said, "That's the extent to which I can help you on that subject without breaking protocol."

Harry nodded. "But if I were to talk about something else, it would be alright."

Malfoy simply smirked and turned back to the quill and parchment. _I wonder if I should tell him that his true personality is starting to show through his Mind Healer façade._

"The reason I actually came here this morning," Harry began, and then decided he didn't want to talk about his nightmare or his childhood abuse. That was a line he didn't want to cross just yet, and definitely not with Malfoy.

"Did you eat your breakfast before Apparating here?" Malfoy asked suddenly, and Harry looked at him with a weird expression.

"No, I didn't."

"Then you must be starving."

Malfoy didn't wait for Harry's reply as he leaned back and clapped his hands. There was a crack and a House Elf appeared, big eyes staring at Malfoy with a beseeching expression. Harry was surprised to note that the elf looked tidy, as if it bathed and cleaned itself regularly, and its tea-cosy dress was quite neat, except for a splotch of what looked like mustard on the bottom.

"Master is summoning Leeky?"

Harry raised his eyebrows at the name and glanced towards Malfoy, who said in a defensive voice, "Scorpius hates leeks and she accidentally gave him leek soup on her first day."

He then turned to the elf and, to Harry's surprise, smiled in the slightest. "Mr Potter and I would like to have our breakfasts here, today."

"Leeky is understanding master. Leeky be bringing masters more tea?"

"Coffee for me." Malfoy looked towards Harry, who nodded. "And for Mr Potter, too."

"Leeky is bringing coffee for masters with breakfast."

The elf bowed so low, her pointed nosed brushed against the carpet, causing her to break out in a fit of sneezes. Malfoy rolled his eyes and waited till the elf was done sneezing before he waved her off. She bowed again, clutched her nose before she could stars sneezing again, and Disapparated with a crack.

"Hermione wouldn't be too pleased to know that the Malfoys still enslave House Elves," Harry commented after a moment, for the simple reason that he wanted to annoy the man and get him to be more Malfoy-like. Harry rather liked Malfoy the Mind Healer, but something about Malfoy the Prat felt more… familiar.

The blond wasn't even fazed. "It can barely be called enslavement. On the contrary, we're doing the elves a service by letting them work for us."

Harry scoffed and said, "Your typical Pureblood way of thinking still hasn't changed, I see."

"And your typical way of instantly judging someone hasn't changed either, I see," Malfoy countered evenly, throwing a smirk in Harry's direction.

 _Who would have ever thought Draco Malfoy and I could be alone in the same room for so long without jumping at each other's throats._

"And you're still falsely accusing me," Harry retorted, trying to look irritated, but the corners of his lips were twitching.

"Falsely accusing you of what?" Malfoy asked with raised eyebrows, his usual, superior, smug expression that Harry remembered so well finally breaking through to the surface.

"Actually, I take that back," Harry said as he relaxed into the plush armchair. "You're still the prat you always were."

Malfoy shrugged and stuck his nose in the air, looking regal. "People never really change, Potter."

"What a miracle it would be if they did."

Malfoy gave him an impish look as he pointed his wand at Harry's cold tea and warmed it in an instant. "Drink your tea," he instructed as he stood up and strode to his desk.

Harry listened to Malfoy shuffle through papers and sort things on his desk as he finished his tea and leaned back in the armchair. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, feeling the familiar calm settle over him and tug him towards unconscious.

He cracked his eyes open and glanced towards Malfoy, who was watching him, and said thickly, "You dosed my tea."

Malfoy's self-important smirk was the last thing he saw before the Calming Draught took effect and Harry felt himself freefalling into the endless abyss of unconsciousness.

* * *

 **A/n: Took a break in-between exams to post this because *deep breath* I just reached fifty reviews and passed fifty follows! Thank you guys so much agh y'all are the best.**

 **So writing Drarry interacting is actually legit really hard. Especially since I've added this Mind Healer persona to Draco, I had to carefully manipulate his characterisation to be just right. I hope I pulled that off. Any comments on how it could be better and constructive criticism is always accepted with open hands! I hope you enjoyed this Drarry-filled chapter.**

 **Also, in case you're wondering- Draco didn't dose Harry's tea enough for him to pass out, just enough to relax him, like with the water, but it was Harry that drank it too fast, resulting in the effect being too strong.**

 **A penny for your thoughts and a ginormous digital cookie for your reviews!**

 **Lots of love~**

 **Arty xx**


	13. 13 Lies: An Unexpected Visitor

**Chapter 13**

 **An Unexpected Visitor**

* * *

 **[9 November 2011]**

 **12:43 PM**

The moment he awoke from his slumber, the first sensation he felt was the sharp stab of hunger. That instantly brought on memories of starvation and the metallic taste of toffee wrappers, and his eyes flew open as he gasped for breath. He was greeted with the unfamiliar sight of a dark, starry ceiling and a strange, silky material beneath his palms. He turned to the left and saw some sort of wooden partition that had intricate carving on it, and to his right was a bedside table, atop which were his glasses, and a weird-shaped candle that smelled unbearably sweet.

His stomach growled again and he sat up a little too fast, causing his head to spin, and a spell of sickness swept over him. Swallowing thickly, he slid off the narrow bed, placed his glasses on the bridge of his nose, and stared at the oddly familiar bookshelf in front of him.

 _Did I fall asleep in Malfoy's office?_

No sooner had the thought cross his mind, so did the memory of a smirking Malfoy and the fact that his tea had been dosed with a strong Calming Draught. He felt a rush of anger and stormed out from behind the divider—only to find a scrumptious lunch waiting for him on the coffee table. His stomach gurgled with urgency and he settled in the armchair, mouth watering at the delicious smell and sight that assaulted his senses.

Doling out a substantial amount of everything onto his plate, he dug in, ravenous. It didn't take him very long to finish the food and drink, and once he was satiated and calm, he stood and walked to the door. He pushed it open slowly, careful that he didn't make a sound, and peered down the hallway. There didn't seem to be anyone in sight and he made his way down the corridor, keeping an ear out for someone.

He wasn't very sure where he was going, since Malfoy's office was on the second floor and he'd only ever been to the ground floor of the building, and decided that he needed to find a lift or stairs, first. For some reason, there seemed to be an awful lot of criss-crossing corridors and not all that many doors. He had nearly given up when he heard voices coming from around the corner. Glad that he'd found someone, he was about to turn the corner when the voices rose. Instantly recognising the female voice that was speaking, he paused and listened while mentally berating himself for eavesdropping

"Does client-Healer confidentiality mean _nothing_ to you, Draco? I've told you innumerable times already—"

"Oh, stop, Camilla. I don't need you to lecture me about rules that I came up with in the first place."

"Well, if that's so, then follow the bloody rules! What's the point of breaching protocol—"

"I didn't breach anything. He didn't sign a form."

" _Stop_ cutting me off!"

There was silence and Harry waited with bated breath. Someone sighed, and he heard Malfoy say, "The only reason I told you was because you personally chose to be his Healer and I don't want there to be any complications."

"And why would there be any?"

There was more silence and Harry could picture the two glaring at each other. He was wondering why they seemed so familiar with each other when he remembered that Camilla had been one of the founding members, and had probably known Malfoy since before Antares was formed.

"Do I have to spell each and everything out for you, then?"

"Apparently you do, because otherwise we wouldn't be having this argument," Camilla snapped, and it sounded like she was packing her things.

"This is not an argument, this is a—"

"If you give me your _this is a discussion_ nonsense one more time, Draco, I swear—"

"Why're you being so pig-headed about this?"

"Why're you being such a pain in the arse about this?"

There was silence again, and Harry found himself being impressed that Camilla could hold her own against Malfoy. He'd never actually known of any witch who wasn't Narcissa Malfoy or Bellatrix Lestrange who the blond actually listened to, let alone argued with.

"Camilla," Malfoy groaned, but the blonde witch had apparently had enough of listening to Malfoy being unreasonable, because Harry heard the clacking of her heels moving towards him.

Alarmed, he pulled out his wand and was just about to cast a Disillusionment Charm when Camilla appeared around the corner. She made a startled sound, and he grabbed her and pulled her towards him, pressing a finger to his lips. She shook her head and asked in a furious whisper, "What are _you_ doing here?"

"I was looking for the lift. Bloody corridors are like a maze."

She gave him a disbelieving look and he thought she would walk away, but she peeked around the corner, sighed, and, with a resigned expression, motioned down the hall. "Come on, I'll show you to them."

She walked slightly ahead of him, heels clicking against the marble floor, and he glanced at her every now and then, wondering whether to break the uncomfortable silence or not. Before he could come up with something that would make for a passable icebreaker, though, they had reached the lifts. She pressed the button and stood staring up at the display.

A female voice announced the lift's arrival and she stepped in, barely waiting for him to enter before shutting the doors and clicking on the button marked G. She continued to stare at the door and ignore his existence, and, unable to take the intolerable silence for any longer, he blurted out, "I'm Harry. Harry Potter."

"I know exactly who you are," was her clipped reply, and he got the feeling that she didn't particularly like him.

He was just wondering if she knew that he was Mr Sandford when the lift pinged. Before the voice could announce their destination, Camilla pushed the large red button and stalled the lift. He stared at her wide-eyed, wondering what she was doing, but she simply said from over her shoulder, "This might be a good time to use your commendable spell-casting, Mr Sandford."

Hearth thudding in his chest, he quickly cast the simplest glamour he knew, enough so people wouldn't be able to identify him, and Camilla let go of the button. The voice announced that they had reached the lobby, the doors hissed open, and Camilla stepped out without another word.

Unsure of what he was supposed to do, he followed after her through the throng of people in the lobby till they reached the crossing corridors just before the Muggle-Repelling Charm.

"Will you be alright to Side-Along Apparate?" she asked without looking at him.

He frowned. "What? Where are we going?"

She finally glanced up at him and smiled, although it seemed forced and didn't reach her eyes. "I'm taking you home. It's faster this way. The Floo's usually packed at this time of day."

"Oh," he replied stupidly, and then said, "No, I mean—I'm fine, now. I can Apparate on my own."

"Is that so?"

He nodded, but she held out her elbow anyway, as though she hadn't heard what he'd just said, and looked at him expectantly.

He grit his teeth and gave her a strained smile. "I can Apparate on my own, Miss McMahon," he repeated, using her surname just in case he was right about her dislike for him.

"I see." He nodded and got ready to Disapparate when she said in a quiet voice, "And it's Camilla, not Miss McMahon."

"Have a good day, then, Camilla," he said with a smile and held out his hand.

"You too, Mr Potter," she replied, shaking his hand.

He stepped back and grinned. "It's Harry. Just Harry."

She chuckled, and he spun on the spot and Disapparated.

* * *

 **5:16 PM**

"Boss."

He looked up and waved Buxley in, pointing at the most recent pile of paperwork he'd just finished looking over. "Those are for you."

Buxley Levitated the pile off the desk, and Harry turned back to the case study he was reading.

"New case?" his deputy asked, placing the pile back down gently.

Harry shot the wizard a look, but Buxley pretended not to notice by seeming awfully interested in the case study. "No, just a follow-up."

"Oh. Of which one?"

"Buxley, I know you hate being stuck with paperwork, and trust me when I say I understand your constant need to pretend like you're interested in what I'm doing, but I need those to be on Mrs Weasley's desk in half an hour. So you better make some headway soon, or I won't be hearing the end of it from her, and you'll be doing paperwork all weekend."

"But—"

" _Now._ "

Buxley glowered at him, Levitated the pile off the desk again, and left Harry's office while muttering expletives loud enough for him to hear. Rolling his eyes, he signed the parchment and placed it on the completed pile. He'd just started with the next case study when there was a knock on the door.

"I swear, Buxley—"

"Is this the Head Auror's office?"

Harry snapped his head up to see a young witch, who looked to be no older than twenty, standing awkwardly at his door. He rose to his feet and motioned to the chair opposite him. She nodded, shut the door, and made her way to the chair. She stood beside it and offered him a small smile.

"Er, how can I help you, Miss…?"

"Barkridge. Lisanna Barkridge." The girl raised her hand, as though she would offer it to him, but then reached up and tucked a strand of her dark curls behind her ear. She had a weird accent that he couldn't place; like a mixture of a British accent and something else.

"Of course. What can I do for you, Miss Barkridge?" He sat back in his seat and pushed the case studies to the side as he considered her.

She was wearing expensive-looking clothing and her hair was done up like she was going to a fancy dinner. Her jewellery and purse didn't seem any less expensive, and from the way she held herself, he reckoned she was the daughter or granddaughter of some noble. Something about her surname rang a bell, but he wasn't sure where he'd come across it before.

"Are you the Head Auror?" she asked, breaking him out of his thoughts.

He was mildly surprised that she'd asked him that, considering she'd already asked if it was the Head Auror's office even though there was a board on the outside of his door stating as much.

"Yes, I am. How may I help you?" he asked for the third time as he leaned forwards and smiled kindly at her.

She flushed, apparently embarrassed by her question, and seemed flustered as she rummaged in her bag. Whatever she was looking for wasn't easily found, because she seemed to go into a panic as she began pulling out one thing after the other and laid them out on his desk. He watched her with amusement, glad for this entertaining distraction from the monotony of paperwork, and waited patiently as she exclaimed at having found whatever it was, sat in the chair, placed it in her lap, and then put everything she'd taken out back into the bag.

She then picked up a folded piece of parchment, looked like she was about to say something, then, seeming to realise that it was the wrong note, began to babble hurriedly about what a clumsy, ditsy person she was and how her grandfather always told her that an airhead like her could never do anything right.

"Miss Barkridge," Harry managed in a choked voice as he tried to control his laughter. "Miss Barkridge, if I may."

She looked up, her cheeks now the colour of cherries, and her wide, hazel eyes filled with tears. He felt terrible for wanting to laugh at her as she was the perfect image of a damsel in distress, and he felt the intrinsic need to help her.

"May I?" he motioned to her purse, and after a moment of staring at his outstretched hand with a confused expression, she exclaimed and nodded, handing him her purse. He smiled at her as he picked up his wand and pointed it into the bag. "What exactly are we looking for, Miss Barkridge?"

"Oh, no, please call me Lisanna. Liz or Lisa are fine as well, sir. Really." She waved her hands, looking like she would break out in tears if he didn't do as requested.

"Right, then, er… Lisa," she nodded with enthusiasm and smiled at him, "what am I looking for?"

"Oh, that's right! It's a folded envelope, sir. It looks like… well, a folded envelope. It's white and has—" she broke off, making vague gestures with her hand, and he had the sudden urge to pat her on the head. She reminded him so much of Lily when she was flustered that he found it adorable.

"Alright, let's see, then. _Accio envelope."_

She started to say it was a _folded_ envelope, not just any envelope, but several envelopes and paper covers and whatnot flew out of her bag and settled in a heap on the desk. She exclaimed in delight as she found was she was looking for and waved it at him.

"Look, sir, I've found it!"

"Excellent, Miss Bar—er, Liz. May I ask what it might be?"

She nodded fervently as she flattened out the envelope, peeled open the seal—it had an emblem on it that he was itching to find out more about—and pulled out what looked like a blueprint of some sort. On closer inspection, it was actually a sketch of a vase, drawn with rough quill strokes. There were blotches in several places, most likely from the quill being pressed against the rather flimsy parchment for too long, and smudges in several others, probably from the artist's hand brushing against the wet ink.

The vase itself was quite spectacular in a weird, modern-art sort of way: it was tall, with a long, narrow neck that opened out into a flat mouth. The handles curved up from the broad disc of the mouth and curled close to the neck, re-joining the vase where the neck widened out to a rather disproportionate body. The body curved gently to form a narrow base, from the centre of which protruded a dewdrop-shaped gem of some sort. Around the gem, creating a sort of cage-like structure, was an intricately carved support that was probably made of metal, from the way it was drawn. The design of the support matched the design on the handles, and there seemed to be a picture painted along the neck and body of the vase.

He wasn't entirely sure if it looked so disproportionate due to the artist's lack of skill or if that was how it was meant to be. Either way, the person who made the vase seemed to have had a weird sense of what a vase should look like. He looked up from the parchment and into shining hazel eyes.

"And this is…?" he asked awkwardly when the young witch continued to watch him with eyes filled with anticipation.

"It's a drawing of a vase, sir."

 _Yes, I see that._

"And why are you showing me this drawing of a vase, Lisa?"

"Ah, that's right!" she rummaged in her bag again, but, after a moment, seemed to realise her search was futile, and looked around on his desk. She then picked up his quill, asked if she may use it, and only after he gave her his permission, began to scrawl something on the parchment.

"There," she said, sitting back and pushing the drawing towards him. He looked to see what she'd done and saw that she'd drawn little arrow marks from the mouth, handles and support of the vase and written _pure gold_ in elegant cursive writing beside them.

He still had no idea what this girl wanted from him.

"Look, Liz," he said, glancing at his watch. As much as he had enjoyed the distraction, he didn't have the time for it. "I'm not entirely sure what you want me to do, but I'll send you to someone who can help—"

"No!" She stood up, grabbed her purse, the envelope and the drawing, and glowered at him. "No, sir! It has to be the Head Auror. Grandfather _specifically_ said—"

"Alright, alright, I understand," he said quickly, motioning for her to sit down. "I'll help you, but I need you to tell me what it is that you want from me."

She flopped down on the chair, placed the parchment on his desk, pointed at the drawing, and went, "This."

He sighed and shook his head. "Miss Barkridge, if you've misplaced your vase, you need to go to the department that deals with—"

"I haven't _misplaced_ it, it was stolen from right under my nose!"

 _I'll bet it was._

"Is that right?"

"Yes. And that is exactly why I need your help finding it."

He bit back a sigh and forced a smile on to his face. "Miss Barkridge—"

"Liz."

"Liz." He looked pointedly at her and she shrank back in her seat. "I'm afraid I can't really help you with this. If you need someone to find a stolen vase, you need to go to—"

"Will you help me if I were to tell you that this is a memento from the Second Wizarding War?"

He was about to refuse her when he stopped abruptly, her words settling in his mind like snow. "I'm sorry?"

She leaned forwards and said in, what was probably meant to be, a mysterious voice, "This vase is said to have belonged to the Blacks. It was handed down from generation to generation, and ended up in the house of Walburga and Orion Black, from where it was wrongfully taken and then sold off as an inexpensive trinket in the black market. It was then retrieved by my late grandfather for a handsome price and has been displayed in our humble abode for decades—until it was stolen from right under my nose last week!"

She looked to be on the brink of tears, and he was at the end of his patience, but when she had mentioned the Blacks and Orion and Walburga, his heart had started to race. And, if this girl's story was true, it had become his duty as the proprietor of Grimmauld Place to find this vase and return it to its rightful owner: him.

"Alright, I'll help you," he said, but even as he spoke the words, he felt like he was making a huge mistake, because Liz squealed with delight and, leaning across the desk, shook his hand vigorously.

"Oh, thank you, thank you! I knew I was right to come straight to you, sir!"

"Speaking of which," he said as he reached under his desk and pressed the buzzer that would alert Buzley that he needed him. "How did you manage to get in here? People aren't allowed here unless they're important or have an appointment."

"Oh, well, then I fall in the former category." She smiled sweetly at him and he raised his eyebrows.

Before he could question her further, Buxley strode in, looking harassed, and said, "Boss, I still have a good twenty minutes left—" he broke off as he caught sight of Liz and shot Harry a questioning look.

"Liz, this is Buxley, and he's going to listen to everything you have to say."

Buxley looked at him wide-eyed, but Harry simply smiled and motioned from his deputy to Liz.

"Buxley, this is Miss Barkridge. She seems to have misplaced—er, had her vase stolen from her."

He'd been ready for some sort of entertaining reaction or the like from the man, but Buxley's attention was fixed on Liz.

"Good evening, Mister Buxley," she greeted in a singsong voice and then turned to Harry. "I really appreciate all of your help, sir."

"It's Potter. Harry Potter."

"Thank you, Mr Potter. I shall be back soon." She turned to Buxley and smiled as she rose from her seat. "Shall we, Mr Buxley?"

Buxley simply nodded, his brows furrowed in confusion as he led the girl out without complaint. Harry watched them go and, with the shake of his head, turned back to his paperwork.

* * *

 **7:32 PM**

"Daddy!"

"Hi, sweetheart! How are you?" He laughed as Lily barrelled into him and he picked her up, twirling her around. "Did you miss me?"

Lily nodded vigorously and clung to him with her doll nestled under her arm. Albus and James were nowhere to be found, and he wondered what they were up to.

"Where is everybody?" he asked as Molly came in through the kitchen door and exclaimed at the sight of him.

"Oh, Harry, darling! You're here!"

She pulled him into a hug, and he laughed as Lily whined about being squished. "I'm here. Where're the rest of the kids?"

"Oh, they should be back anytime, now. You know how Arthur's been wanting to take them to the watch the tournament, so Bill took the day off today so they could go together. I told Ginny, but she isn't in Dorset anymore, so she couldn't meet with them. And Fleur and Dominique took advantage of the opportunity to get some shopping done in Diagon. They should be back soon, too."

"That's too bad. But Ginny'll be coming back soon anyway, and besides, I don't think the boys would've even missed their mum all the much in all the excitement."

Molly made a musing sound as she bustled over to the kitchen. "Did you eat your supper, dear? I thought we'd wait till everyone got back, but if you're hungry…"

"Oh, no, I'm fine." Lily wriggled in his hold and he put her down, watching as she ran over to her grandmother and peered over the counter. "Lily, are you hungry?"

She nodded, and Molly immediately procured a bowl of pudding for her. "Here, but don't tell your brothers!"

Lily cheered and settled down with her pudding, explaining to her doll about what exactly it was and why she loved it. He smiled as he watched his daughter play and sat down on the sofa with a sigh. It had been a long day and he was exhausted.

"How've you been doing, Harry?" Molly asked as she came to sit beside him, wiping her hands on her apron.

"I'm fine, thanks for asking," he replied with a smile.

They sat in silence for a while, watching Lily feed her doll the pudding while making a mess around her, and Molly finally spoke up.

"Harry, you know I love you and the children very much, and that we love having them here…" she paused, a conflicted expression on her face, and he turned towards her, worried.

When she didn't continue, he reached over and placed his hand over hers, offering her a kind smile. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"It's just… Arthur and I were talking, and we both think that it's time you put the children back in pre-school."

He jerked back, surprised by the suddenness of it all, and Molly immediately covered his hand with her other one and smiled at him. "I know it's difficult for you to take care of them without Ginny, seeing how you're at work so much of the time, and while both Arthur and I enjoy spending time with the children, we think it's been far too long since you pulled them out of school."

Feeling the exhaustion seep into his bones, he said in a strained voice, "Molly, we've talked about this. It's barely been three weeks since they left their previous pre-school. I don't want to rush them into another one before they're ready."

The Weasley matriarch had a gentle expression on her face as she asked in a soft voice, "Until they're ready or you are?"

He sighed, turning away, and watched as Lily got up and walked over to the sink to wash her bowl.

Ginny and he had been having problems with regards to the kids attending pre-school ever since the incident a month prior. James had gotten upset that his teachers wouldn't let him play in the Little Quidditch League because he'd nearly broken his arm from losing control over his broom and crashing into the hoops, and in the process of throwing a tantrum, he'd accidentally shattered all the windows in the school and hurt a lot of the teachers and children in the process.

That had been one of the very few times his accidental magic had gone haywire, and he'd been very shaken up over it. Harry and Ginny had been summoned immediately and were profusely apologised to for what had happened, despite the fault lying with James. They had been called back the next day to be told that one of the parents, whose child had apparently got a bad scrape close to his eye, was very upset and wanted some action to be taken against James for it.

While Harry and Ginny were speaking to the distraught woman and were in the process of clearing the confusion, James and Albus had gotten into a fight because one of the older kids had accused them of getting special treatment just because they were Harry Potter's children. That had led to the involvement of more parents, and the entire thing had become one uncontrollable mess.

Harry had finally decided to pull his kids out of the pre-school to save them any more trouble at his expense and save them from facing more complications because others thought his children were being given special preference over the other kids simply because they were _his_ children.

He'd been rather upset by the whole ordeal and had gone back to the school to apologise for the trouble caused, but in the process, had found out that his kids _had,_ in fact,been getting special preference, and the other children and parents had started to take notice of it. The staff had apparently received several complaints about this, but they had continued to treat James, Albus and Lily with more care and concern than the rest of the children, and the knowledge of this had upset Harry further and he had vowed never to go back to the school again.

The one thing he had asked of them, even before he and Ginny had chosen to enrol their kids there, was that they would treat James, Albus and Lily just as they would any of the other children. The last thing he had wanted was for his children to grow up thinking they were far more superior than the rest and that they could get away with anything simply because they were Harry Potter's children.

He should have anticipated that people would still treat them differently, even if it was because they didn't want to get into trouble with The Chosen One over something as simple as one of the kids getting injured while playing or going back home to complain that one of the other kids was mean to them or that they didn't enjoy going to school.

This had led to his decision that it would be best if the three were home-schooled till they were old enough to go to Hogwarts, but Ginny had immediately refused because that was exactly the sort of special treatment the other children and parents had been accusing them of. And, of course, this had turned into a prolonged argument till Molly had intervened and offered to look after the kids whenever necessary till they found a more suitable pre-school.

But with all the things that had happened of late, the topic of finding another pre-school seemed to have skipped both his and his wife's minds. They had been under the impression that things would be fine and that they could put it off for just a little longer, till they were able to sort out the other parts of their life. Thinking about it now, he realised that both he and Ginny had taken Arthur and Molly's offer for granted and hadn't actually thought that they couldn't take care of the kids forever.

Shaking his head, he said, "You're right. And so is Ginny. I would hate for the three of them to grow up not having made any new friends and learnt new things. I suppose we just thought it didn't really matter since they've got you and Arthur and all of their cousins, so it's not like they have no children to spend time with or adults to take care of them…"

Molly nodded in understanding. "I agree with that. None of my children ever went to pre-school. The fact that we couldn't afford it aside, we felt the same way as you do—there were enough of them to go around, and I loved watching over them all day. Even if it did get very exhausting. You could even say the Burrow was a pre-school of its own." She chuckled at that, and he smiled.

"I suppose I'm going to have to hunt for a school on my own, then, since Ginny's too busy with the tournament."

"Nonsense! No one ever said you had to do it alone, Harry. We've been looking after the kids for so long, now, a few weeks more don't matter. I just wanted to speak with you about this to make sure you actually did plan on putting them back in school. It'll do them good to experience different things with all the different sorts of people out there."

He nodded. "You're right. I suppose after what happened, they've realised that people treat them differently than others. James even came up to me and asked me why the other kids had said he was different from them and that they couldn't be friends. He didn't seem to understand it, and that makes sense because we raised them that way and all of us treat all the kids alike. I think it'll do them good to come to terms with the way people view them. The earlier, the better."

Molly smiled at him and patted his knee. "You've gotten wise, Harry." He laughed at that as Lily crawled into his lap with her doll and mumbled something to him.

"Sweetheart, are you sleepy?" Lily nodded. "Do you want to eat dinner?" She shook her head. "What if you get hungry in the night?" She shrugged. He chuckled as he kissed her hair and shot Molly a wry smile. "I think I'll go put her to bed."

She nodded as she stood up and began to set the table. He stopped at the foot of the stairs and called over his shoulder, "Thanks, Molly."

The corners of her eyes crinkled as she smiled warmly at him. "Always, love."

* * *

 **A/n: Reminder that this story is meant to progress relatively slower than usual. But I promise that the Drarry interaction will come sooner than later.**

 **Thank you for all the follows, favourites and reviews! A few (several) more won't hurt anybody :3**

 **Let me know what you thought about this chapter!**

 **Also, if you don't like this story, please don't read. Nobody's asking you to read something you don't like and then go out of your way to tell me you don't like it.**

 **Lots of love~**

 **Arty.**


	14. 14 Lies: Decisions

**Chapter 14**

 **Decisions**

* * *

 **[10 November 2011]**

 **9:06 AM**

"And what makes you so sure anything she said was even true?"

He rolled his eyes as Hermione stared at him, as though she expected him to accept that he might have made a stupid mistake. Like he would ever admit to that.

"Nothing. I've got Buxley looking her up to find out how true her little story about the stolen vase is, but beyond that I've got nothing that could indicate that the vase even belonged to the Blacks, let alone that it was taken from Grimmauld Place and is a memento from the war."

Hermione eyed him with a level expression and asked, "Is that why you agreed to help her? Because she said it was a memento from the war?"

He shrugged, and she threw her hands up and began to pace across her office. "Harry, really, you need to stop obsessing over these things."

"Obsessing over _what_ things? I'm not obsessing over _any_ thing."

She crossed her hands and raised her eyebrows, giving him an _oh really?_ look. He grumbled under his breath, feeling chastised. She sighed and shook her head.

"I thought you were going to stop. Have you forgotten the promise we made?"

She looked at him with a sort of sad expression in her eyes, and he felt guilt well up in him. In all honesty, he _had_ forgotten about their promise. The one they had made so many years ago, while trying to recover from their war trauma, when they had promised each other that they wouldn't purposely dig up stuff from the war and would just leave things be. He remembered what Ron had said very clearly, now.

" _The past doesn't exist to be dug up. It exists to be buried and pushed to the back of our minds so that some day, we might be able to forget about it. The further down you bury it, the easier it'll get."_

That was one of the wisest things that had ever come out of Ron's mouth in all the years Harry had known him, not to mention Hermione had been mighty impressed with him. He scrunched up his nose as he was reminded of just _how_ impressed she'd been with Ron, and tried to shake the memory out of his head.

"Harry."

He looked up to see the brooding expression on her face and sighed. "Hermione, would you relax? I'm not trying to break our promise or anything. This girl specifically came to me about this vase, and if she really is as important as she claims to be, then I have no choice but to help her find it. Besides, if it really _did_ belong to the Blacks and was a token from the war, then that's all the more reason for me to find it."

"Or you could just pass the job on to someone else. Someone who isn't the Head Auror."

Harry groaned. "Like who? Robards?"

Hermione shrugged a shoulder, and Harry scoffed. "Yes, right, because Robards would be _thrilled_ to be given a case of a missing vase."

" _Stolen_ vase."

Harry shot her a look, and Hermione sniffed. "I'm just clarifying."

"Right." He stood and walked across the room to where she was standing leaning against her desk. "Anyway, I promise to keep you in the loop so you don't have to worry about me so much."

He gave her an expectant smile, and she conceded begrudgingly. "Fine. But you have to _promise—"_

"I promise."

"I haven't even said what it is, yet."

"I promise anyway."

She pursed her lips, and he grinned as he pulled her into a hug. "I won't do anything stupid, Hermione. I've learned my lesson far too many times already."

"I highly doubt that," she grumbled into his chest and pulled away. He laughed as he stepped back and waved.

"Well, I better get back and make sure my deputy isn't slacking off, so…"

"Wait, Harry, before you go—" Hermione went around her desk and picked up a quill. "What did you say her surname was again?"

He paused at the door. "Whose, Lisa's? Barkridge, I think. Why?"

She shook her head, a thoughtful frown on her face. "I feel like I've heard that name somewhere before… I'm going to need to look into this. I'll let you know if and when I find something."

He smiled and stepped out. "Thanks, Hermione."

She nodded distractedly, but still called out, "And I haven't forgotten about the paperwork!" as he pulled the door shut, causing him to make a face and wonder if there was somebody else he could dump Buxley's work on.

* * *

 **12:17 PM**

He sighed as he stared at his reflection in the mirror and felt the coolness of the water against his skin. After a time, he turned off the tap and dried his hands and face, pulling the toilet door shut as he walked back into his office.

It wasn't time for him to break for lunch, yet, and he resorted to pacing around the room just to keep himself occupied. He'd been feeling fidgety for a while, now, since he's already finished his quota of paperwork for the day and didn't have any pressing matters to deal with at the moment. He kept thinking about Malfoy and Antares and Camilla and Liz and the vase and the Blacks and the kids and pre-schools and how Ginny hadn't called him any time recently, and it was driving him mad.

Just as he was about to walk to the coffee machine to make himself a mug of strong, black coffee, a memo fluttered in through the door. He caught it before it sailed past him and unfolded it carefully. He stared at Buxley's familiar scrawl for a moment before reading the memo. It contained very brief bullet points about various things starting from the latest news of the on-going investigation into Lisanna Barkridge's identity and the story of the lost vase, to the submission of paperwork to the DMLE and them insisting that Harry attend the customary meeting of the heads of departments on Friday, to the latest report on the vandalism case Buxley was overseeing, and finally, to the most important thing: that he had no more work to do and could head home for the day.

For some reason that didn't placate him in the least. The thought of returning to an empty house did not seem appealing in any way and he didn't really want to visit the Burrow again without making at least some progress with the pre-schools. Grinding his teeth, he picked up his coat and strode out the door, wondering if he should go on his weekly rounds and check on what the rest of his department was up to. Just as he decided that we would, a sharp, high-pitched ringing assaulted his senses and he swore loudly, digging into his pocket for his mobile phone.

Cursing under his breath when he saw the blinking LED, he realised he must've accidentally pocketed his phone that morning instead of leaving it at home and had forgotten to turn it off. He Apparated quickly, arriving at the entrance of the atrium, and all but ran out of the Ministry, not wanting to deal with the personnel from the Department for the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts. He switched his phone off so it wouldn't get damaged from all the magic in the Ministry.

He'd accidentally brought his Muggle phone to the Ministry a few times before without turning it off, and that had led to it nearly melting every time someone called him or sent him a message. He never really realised he'd forgotten till it was too late, and had received several long lectures from both Arthur and the current head of the MMA for being so careless.

Once he was a safe distance away from the Ministry, he turned on his phone and his eyebrows shot up when he saw that he had received a message from Camilla. Curious, he quickly opened it and scanned the contents. It wasn't written in the usual, formal way all her letters were, confirming his suspicion that this was something personal. She wanted to know if he could meet with her for lunch because there were things she wanted to discuss and that it would be completely off the record because she was doing this on her own time.

He deliberated for a moment before shrugging and sending her a reply that he would love to. It wasn't like he had anything to do anyway, and besides, he was too curious to refuse. No sooner had the message been delivered, he received another one asking for him to meet her at a restaurant of his choice. He thought about where he preferred to eat that day and sent her the name and address, deciding that he may as well walk since it wasn't all that far off.

He reached his destination a quarter of an hour later, and found her waving to him from the far side of the restaurant. Making his way through the rather crowded restaurant, he smiled as he reached her and took her outstretched hand.

"Good afternoon, Mr Potter. I hope I didn't inconvenience you by asking you out on such short notice," she said politely as she shook his hand.

"Not at all. I was actually on my way home, so you contacted me at the right time. And please, call me Harry."

"Alright then, Harry." She smiled at him as he took his seat and then turned to the waiter who had come to take their order.

Once the Muggle walked away, Camilla turned back to him and he instantly noticed that she seemed rather nervous. His heart starting to race, he tried to seem as nonchalant as possible as he waited for her to breach the topic of why she had asked to meet with him.

"I would begin with small talk if this were one of our sessions, but since it's not, I'm going to get straight to it." Her eyes shimmered uncertainly and she said in a soft voice, "I apologise for my rather rude behaviour yesterday."

Startled, he blustered and tried to wave off her apology, but she continued without allowing him to speak. "I assume you overheard my argument with Draco—Healer Malfoy yesterday, and so I decided that it would be for the best for me to come clean to you about myself to make it easier for you to reach the decision of whether or not you would like to continue with me as your Healer."

He frowned. _This again? Why is her being my Healer such a big deal?_

"I'm sorry, but I don't understand," he began, perturbed by first Malfoy and now Camilla's reluctance at her continuing as his Healer. "Is this because I no longer have an alias or because I breached client-Healer confidentiality or something?"

Camilla laughed airily and waved her hand. "No, no, nothing of that sort. The fault lies with me, and I understand your confusion, which is why I want to talk to you about myself in order to iron things out."

She smiled, but it seemed rather strained, as though this situation was as uncomfortable for her as it was for him. He took a deep breath to brace himself and nodded. If she would feel more comfortable telling him whatever it was that she wanted to, then so be it. He was sure she only wanted him to listen and nothing else, and that this might be mostly for, as she claimed, his sake and the sake of Antares than anything.

 _Did Malfoy put her up to this?_ He wondered, thinking back to the previous day's conversation he'd happened to overhear.

As though reading his mind, Camilla said, "Rest assured that Draco knows nothing about this. As I said in my message, this is an unofficial meeting that I deemed necessary for several reasons."

He nodded, and they sat silently as the waiter brought their appetisers and drinks. Once he left, Camilla took a long swig of her wine, and then began to speak.

"First of all, you must know that my surname isn't actually McMahon. That is the name I took on before I formally began my Healer training. My actual name is Camilla Helena Hutcherson, and I was born in a small town in the far south that probably no longer exists. My parents, Helena and Steven Hutcherson, were devout supporters of the Order of the Phoenix and fought for their cause, as did my two older brothers, Raymond and Marcus Hutcherson."

She paused, her cyan eyes having taken on a deep, brooding look, the smile long gone from her face. His heart hammering against his chest, he waited with bated breath, anticipating what she was going to say next.

And as he had expected, she said in a voice that was no more than a whisper, "My parents fought and died in the first Wizarding War, and my brothers, in the second."

She paused again, and he felt a lump form in his throat. He could hear the sounds of people screaming and begging for their lives, and he quickly dispersed those thoughts. This wasn't about him. This was about her. _And her dead family._

"I'm sorry," he said in a choked voice, and she flashed him a smile that disappeared before it could placate him. "Were…" He cleared his throat. "Were your parents and brothers part of the Order? Maybe… maybe I met them. Maybe I—"

"No, they weren't."

He swallowed thickly and tried to calm his racing heart. She took another long sip of her drink, finishing it, and motioned for the waiter to pour her some more. Once her glass was full, she stared at it for a long moment before she spoke. "My parents were a part of the group of supporters that helped evacuate Muggles and Muggleborns in areas where the Dark Lord was unleashing his terror. I was only a child of two during the first war, so I don't remember them very well, but from the stories my brothers told me, I could tell that they firmly believed in the Order and the good and the light, and that they would save all of wizard-kind."

She scoffed and laughed bitterly, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "How wrong they were."

He felt his heart lurch and had to focus on breathing in and out and keeping the images and visions of people being tortured out of his mind. She shook her head and brushed a hand across her face, as though trying to pull a mask over her heart-broken expression, and then glanced towards him.

"I suppose you, of all people, would understand what it's like to never know your parents because they were murdered in cold blood by a madman."

Her expression was intense, piercing, suffocating. He wanted to stand up and run away, and with every second that passed with him staring into her wide, blue eyes, he was regretting his decision to not return home.

 _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry,_ he said over and over in his head, but he couldn't bring himself to say it out loud. He felt like he would be insulting her and the memory of her family if he did. So he remained silent, trying to not let the lump in his throat choke him to death as he struggled to hold her gaze. Unable to, he dropped his gaze to his still-full glass of wine and quickly finished it, wincing at the sour taste in his mouth. The waiter came and refilled his glass, and he quickly sipped from it, feeling the warm liquid gently ease the lump in his throat. He placed the glass on the table and looked up at the waiter expectantly. The man hesitated for a moment before filling the glass and walked away before Harry could finish it.

Finally, once he could breathe again without choking, he looked towards Camilla and saw that she had finished her own wine. She didn't bother waiting for the waiter as she refilled both their glasses. He belatedly berated himself for drinking so much in the afternoon as he watched her take another sip from her glass.

"My brothers, who were eight and twelve, then, raised me, with help from the townsfolk, till I was old enough to go to Hogwarts. The moment they were of age, my brothers went and joined the Aurors and took on the most difficult and dangerous missions there were, offering to help the Order when the Dark Lord rose again."

She stared past him, a faraway look in her eyes, as though she was reliving the worst memories of her childhood. "And then, just after I finished my seventh year and decided to pursue my training as a Healer, I received a letter from Mark saying Ray had gone on an undercover mission and hadn't returned. I abandoned my training and rushed to help search for my brother, but by the time I got to Mark, it was too late…" She reached for her glass, but her hand shook as she picked it up, so she replaced it on the table without drinking from it. "The village he, the other Aurors and Order members were hiding out in was ambushed and razed to the ground," she continued, staring at her hands, seemingly unaware of the tears that spilled down her cheeks, and whispered, "I couldn't save him. He died in my arms."

She looked up at Harry, then, a hopeless expression on her face. "I couldn't save him. I did everything, I tried everything, but I barely had enough knowledge as a Healer to help him. I couldn't save him."

It was as though she wanted him to tell her that it wasn't her fault. That she wasn't the one that killed her brother; that she had done everything she could. That it wasn't her fault.

But he couldn't. He had no right. _They died because of me. They died because I wouldn't. If it's anybody's fault, it's mine._

He shook his head slowly, feeling a sense of numbness spread through him with the warmth of the wine. The corners of his vision were blurring and he felt nauseous. His heartbeats were painful, and as he watched her dry her eyes and force a smile onto her face, he felt like a part of him was slowly dying.

 _I'm sorry._

 _I'm sorry._

 _I'm sorry._

"I saw you in person for the first time after the war," she continued as though she hadn't just broken down in tears after confessing that she couldn't save her dying brother. "I saw you standing there, answering reporters' questions, consoling people, reassuring them, apologising for the lives lost, promising them that it wouldn't happen again, and I…" She shook her head, staring at him wide-eyed, as though she was seeing him for the first time. "I _detested_ you."

He felt like his heart had stopped beating. Like someone had stabbed him and was slowly extricating his frozen heart from his chest. Camilla continued to speak.

"I loathed you and found it completely unfair that you got to survive time and again when so many innocent people had died. That you walked to your death and came out alive when hundreds of others never had that choice. That you could stand there, looking like a martyr, when I could still feel the warmth of my brother's blood on my hands. And I could only think of one thing: why you? What made you so special? Why did you get to escape death so many times? You, an ordinary boy with no extraordinary talent or powers, who was standing there and promising a world with no war as though you were our messiah, what gave you the right?"

She stopped, watching him, as though she wanted him to answer the question.

 _What gave me the right? The answer is obvious._

Nothing.

He shook his head, finding it hard to breathe, finding himself gasping for breath, his vision blurring, his head spinning, his heart racing, his ears roaring. A long-forgotten thought rose up from the depths of his consciousness as he struggled against it.

 _It was me that should have died._

"—rry! Harry!"

He gasped as he felt ice-cold water splash onto his face, bringing him back to his senses. He stared at Camilla through the water splattered on his glasses, taking in the worried expression on her face. She didn't even wait for him to recover before looking around and quickly casting a warming charm to dry him up.

"I—I—" he stammered, unsure of what to say, his muddled mind numb and confused, the wine warm in his stomach and like cotton in his head.

She watched him for a moment longer and then suddenly, so suddenly that it alarmed him, began to laugh. She shook her head and buried her face in her hands as her shoulders trembled with laughter, and when she looked up, tears streamed down her face, her cerulean eyes shimmering.

"And that's when I realised," she said in a voiced choked with laughter, continuing her story like she had just stopped a moment ago, "that you were just like me. Except you had to put on a brave face and pretend like you could carry the weight of the world on your frail shoulders while I could stand in the shadows and pretend like my petty problems were greater than everything you had to bear."

He stared at her, thoroughly confused by this sudden change in her demeanour, and he found himself wondering if she'd purposely made herself seem happy just to make him feel better. But when he looked into her earnest eyes, he could only see a person who had suffered great pain and loss, just like him, and had learnt to bear it with much more elegance and grace than he ever could.

"Harry," she said, drawing his attention back to her. She leaned forwards, a small smile on her face. "I hated you, but I hated myself more because you were able to stand tall without collapsing from the weight of the burden you bore while I could only project my pain and helplessness and deflect my problems onto you and curse you for being the kind-hearted person that you seemed to be."

She shook her head. "It took me the longest time to forgive you, but when I did, I realised that I was finally able to forgive myself. After speaking with you and meeting you, I realised that you were, in actuality, a very kind person and that I was right. You're just like me. You had nightmares of the war, you fought to retain your sanity and contain your sadness, and when you couldn't, you sought out people who could help drive away the pain."

She smiled, a genuine, teary smile, and said, "I suppose I just wanted to thank you. I suppose that's what made it so easy for my parents and brothers to follow after you without even the slightest inkling of a doubt."

He wasn't sure what she was talking about, but he still laughed breathlessly, feeling exhausted, and ran his hands down his face. Sighing, he shook his head and said, "You're right. I don't think I could continue with you as my Healer."

She smiled and nodded in understanding. He continued, "But I would like it if we could be friends."

Her eyes glittered as she laughed and said, "You truly are a man who is beyond my understanding, Harry Potter."

He bowed his head, light-headed from drinking so much wine so quickly and from the rush of emotions he'd felt. "I reckon that's because I don't quite understand myself very well either."

She took a swig of her wine and smiled, seeming at peace, making him wonder if he'd imagined her earlier break down. "I reckon so."

But even as the Muggle waiter brought their meal and they dug in, the only thought that replayed over and over in his head was, _I am not a kind person._

* * *

 **3:32 PM**

He watched as Camilla's cab drove off, feeling a sense of déjà vu settle over him as the car disappeared around the corner. Pulling his phone out, he hit the speed dial button and pressed the phone to his ear. Six rings later, a familiar voice answered.

"Hello, Harry?"

"Ron, I'm at the _Great Court,_ come get me."

"What?"

"I think I've had a little too much to drink."

Ron swore and grumbled something about it being a working day, and the line went dead. Harry let his arm fall to the side as he leaned back against the cool glass front of the restaurant and unfocused his gaze, concentrating on not throwing up. The wine and the food left him feeling dazed and light-headed, which was a welcome relief because he wasn't quite ready to deal with everything Camilla had told him earlier.

About five minutes later, there was a muffled _pop,_ and Ron appeared from out of the restaurant's back alley, looking frazzled. He looked around for a moment before his eyes landed on Harry, and he frowned, striding over with a menacing expression on his face.

"I swear, mate—"

"Look, get me home and then I'll let you lecture me all you want."

Ron gritted his teeth and made an agitated sound before asking, "You good to Side-Along Apparate?"

Harry shrugged a shoulder and mumbled, "Won't get myself Splinched, 'f that's what you're asking."

Ron sighed and wound an arm around Harry's waist, hefting him up and helping him hobble towards the alley. They waited a moment to make sure no one was around before Ron tightened his grip around Harry, and with a 'Hang on tight,' they Disapparated.

The moment Harry's feet were on solid ground, he doubled over and heaved, throwing up the entirety of his lunch, and the wine. Ron yelped and jumped out of the way, and by the time Harry was done throwing up, Ron was back with a glass of water.

 _Not a good idea to Apparate when drunk_ , he made a mental note as Ron Scoured the vomit and helped him to the sofa. Harry settled against the cool leather with a sigh and accepted the glass of water from Ron, revelling at the clean taste as he gulped it down.

"So," Ron began the moment Harry had put the glass down. "Why exactly did you think it was a good idea to get wasted on a Thursday afternoon?"

Harry grunted. "Tough day at work."

Ron eyed him with a level expression. "Wanna talk about it?"

Harry faltered for a moment before shrugging. "Remember that promise you, me and Hermione made?"

Ron raised an eyebrow. "Which one?"

"The one where we promised we wouldn't go digging up stuff about the war."

Ron frowned. "Yeah?"

"Well, I may have taken up a case that'd break that promise."

Ron sat back, the same sort of brooding expression on his face that Hermione had had earlier that day. "What sort of case?"

"This girl came looking for me last evening about a missing vase—"

Ron interrupted him. "Which isn't your department."

"Right, but it was stolen—"

Ron interrupted him again. "Which still isn't your department."

"I know," Harry said in an agitated voice. He was starting to develop a headache. "I told her the same thing. But she insisted that I was the only one who could help her." He waited till Ron asked, "And why is that?" to continue. "Because she claims the vase belonged to the Blacks and is a memento from the war."

Ron leaned forwards, elbows on his knees, a thoughtful frown on his face. "Did you check up on that?"

Harry nodded. "I've got Buxley looking up the extent of truth behind her story, but that's apparently harder than we initially thought because of all the black markets and illegal antique dealers involved."

Ron sighed and shook his head. "Harry, are you doing this because you're trying to find out stuff from the past or because you're trying to help this girl find her stolen vase?"

Harry blinked, surprised by the question, and said, "Well, I _was_ going to decline at first, but when she brought up the Blacks and it being a memento and everything, I decided that it was important that I handled it personally."

Ron nodded slowly. "OK. That makes sense. If it really is as important as she claims it to be, then it needs to be found and the perpetrators need to be caught." Harry started to agree when Ron fixed clear, blue eyes on him and asked, "But mate, you didn't answer my question. Is your aim to find this vase or to dig up the past?"

Harry frowned. "To find the vase, obviously."

Ron sat back, looking satisfied. "Then I don't see the problem."

"What?"

"Well, you're clearly only trying to find some stolen vase, so I don't see what the big deal is. Other than that it isn't really your duty to find stolen stuff for people. The Ministry has a separate department for that, you know."

Ron grinned, and Harry shook his head, a sense of awe settling over him. He'd missed this. The way Ron was able to give clarity to things that Harry would complicate for no reason through his simplistic ways of thinking. That was one of Ron's greatest gifts. It had saved both Harry and Hermione countless times before and would, countless times more, Harry was sure.

"Yeah." He nodded, feeling relieved. "Yeah."

"Still doesn't explain why you went and got pissed out of your mind in the middle of the day, though," Ron said, eyebrows raised.

Harry groaned. "Well, I wasn't planning to. But…" he trailed off and shrugged, slumping against the arm rest. "I didn't really wanna come home to an empty house."

"You could've gone over to the Burrow."

Harry waved his hand vaguely. "Yeah, well."

Ron shrugged. "Could've come over to the shop. It's not peak season for pranks, yet, so George and I have quite a bit of free time."

Harry gestured to Ron and said, "I see that."

"Oi, you called, I came. That's what friends do."

Harry grinned. "Thanks, mate."

"Wait till Hermione hears about this. You'll decide to never drink again after her lecture. If you survive it." Ron rolled his eyes, but he had a fond expression on his face.

Harry groaned. "She's going to kill me."

"I'll say."

They sat in silence for a moment, and Ron finally rose to his feet. "Well, as much as I loved hauling your drunk arse home and cleaning up your vomit, I actually _am_ in the middle of work, so…"

"Right." Harry pushed himself up and patted Ron on the back. "Say hi to George for me."

Ron tilted his imaginary hat. "Will do. Also, come home some time. Rosie and Hugh've been asking to see their Uncle Harry for a while, now. You didn't even make it to the game."

"Oh, you went to the game?"

Ron nodded as he stepped around the sofa. "Yeah, it was sort of sudden. I thought Bill and Dad could use the extra pair of hands. Plus, my kids wanted to see yours, and I had some time, so I thought why not." He smiled and clapped Harry on the shoulder. "Well, see you later, then. And maybe next time nobody'll be wasted."

Harry rolled his eyes, and Ron laughed. "See you, mate. Thanks again."

"'S alright." Ron was about to Disapparate when he paused suddenly and said, "Oh, also, have you heard from Ginny lately? I've been trying to get in touch with her but she never answers her phone."

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, no, I haven't. Last time we spoke she sounded really busy, so…"

Ron nodded. "Yeah, the season's finally in full swing."

"Yeah."

"Well, later, mate."

"See you."

He waved and watched Ron spin on the spot and Disapparate with a _crack_ , leaving him alone, once again, in an empty home. He sighed and massaged his temples, wondering if he should just take a nap since there wasn't much else to do, when there were three sharp raps on the window frame, and a Screech Owl flew in and settled on the table.

He walked towards it, curious, and it stuck its left talon out to reveal an envelope. Summoning a box of owl treats, he handed some to the owl and took the letter, eyeing the familiar insignia of Antares on the seal. He ripped it open and pulled the letter out, heart beginning to race, and stared at the unfamiliar, yet somehow familiar handwriting.

It was addressed to him and not to his alias, and requested him to go to Antares at the earliest in order to clarify and coordinate the necessary details regarding his consultation with them. He glanced at the bottom of the letter and was surprised to see that the letter was signed by _Head Healer Malfoy_ instead of by Camilla.

 _So she must've told him about our lunch date,_ he thought with a sigh as he Summoned some parchment and his Self-Inking Quill. He thought for a moment and decided that Saturday would be a good day to see Camilla, and Malfoy, again. He wanted a day to gather his thoughts and get his act straight before he came face to face with Camilla and everything she'd confessed to him.

As he sent the letter off with the owl, he belatedly wondered who his next Healer would be. _I hope it doesn't end up being someone who's family was severely affected by me and the war._

* * *

 ** _A/n:_ I am so extremely sorry that my updates have been so late! I really can't help it. What with falling sick and college, real life has just been a pain in the arse recently. **

**Well, quite a bit happened in this chapter (Ron finally appeared, yay! I've actually missed him tbh) but more importantly- I wonder who Harry's Healer would be. Hm.**

 **So what did you guys think about Camilla's backstory? Sorry if things happened too fast in that bit, the chapter got too long so I sort of had to cut it down a little so it didn't turn into a complete info dump.**

 **Also, again, for those of you who are wondering about the dates and times: they're mostly to help me keep track of when things are happening since this is a rather slow-paced story, but I decided to leave them in just so they add a bit of clarity for you guys as well. Don't let it bother you too much because I don't plan on removing them (lol).**

 **Anyway, thank you for reading! And for all the follows and favourites! I would love your thoughts and opinions on this chapter, and any constructive criticism will be welcomed with open hands! (No, Seriously, lemme know what you guys think. I live off of reviews.)**

 **Lots of love~**

 **Arty xx**


	15. 15 Lies: Slow Rise

**A/n: Wanted to mention before hand that the last two chapters and the ones from here on out aren't [going to be] beta-d because both my betas are super busy. So while I do re-read all my chapters multiple times, there will be small mistakes that go overlooked, so if there's something you spot, please leave a review and mention them, if you don't mind. That would be immensely helpful.**

 **Thanks a ton xx**

* * *

 **Chapter 15**

 **Slow Rise**

* * *

 **[12 November 2011]**

 _When he opened his eyes, it was to the sight of burning houses and screaming people. Cloaked wizards were shooting jets of fire at the already blazing village, their silver masks glittering from the dancing flames._

 _He stepped forwards with the intention of saving the Muggleborns running amuck, but he felt a small hand grasp his finger, and he looked down to see a little blonde girl, her blue eyes wide and fearful. Tears streaming down her cheeks, she sobbed, begging for her parents and brothers._

" _Mama!" she wailed. "Papa! Ray! Mark!"_

 _His heart clenched, but he pulled his hand away, his cloak swishing around his ankles. The child staggered towards him, and he hurried backwards, wanting to escape the heart-breaking sight of her crying for her family._

" _I can't help you!" he finally yelled, and she stopped, staring up at him wide-eyed._

" _Why?" she finally asked, her voice echoing around him, drowning out the shrill screaming from the dying people._

" _I just can't!" he replied as she stepped forwards, and he turned to the side with the intention of running away, but what he saw made him stop short._

 _He was holding a wand pointed at the village, and out of it poured crackling and sizzling jets of orange and red. A person stepped right in front of him and burst into flame, the woman's blonde curls and blue eyes eerily familiar._

 _The child screamed next to him, and he realised with a jolt that the woman was her mother. He tried to move his hand, but it was too late. The burning witch collapsed to the floor, her dead, empty eyes fixed on her child._

" _Mama!" the girl screamed. "Mama!"_

" _No!" he yelled as she ran towards her mother. He grabbed her and pulled her away, but she broke free of his grasp and ran. He ran after her for some reason, the screams of the dying witches and wizards filling his ears, until they had run away from the burning village and into another one._

" _We have to find Ray! He needs our help!"_

 _He looked down to see that the girl, now much older, was sitting on the ground, frantically trying to bandage the head of the man lying on her lap._

" _We will!" she sobbed. "We will, I promise! But first you need to survive! Please, Mark!"_

 _Mark wasn't listening, though, because he was dead, his hollow eyes staring up at his wailing sister._

" _Mark! Mark! Marcus, wake up! Wake up!"_

 _He staggered back and spun on his heel, trying to run away, but he tripped on the hem of his cloak and went sprawling down. When he looked up, it was into wide, blue eyes._

" _You," the girl said, pointing at him, her pale cheeks stained with tear tracks. "Why_ you _? Why should_ you _live when everyone I loved died? Why_ you _?!"_

 _She screamed, and before he knew it, he was screaming with her._

* * *

 **9:07 AM**

"Boss."

He looked up to see Buxley, looking as exhausted as he felt, trudge into the office and flop down on the chair across from his.

"What's wrong?" he asked, concerned.

"The vase," Buxley muttered, his dislike for it clear on his face. "I followed every trail that was connected to it in every way possible, just like you asked, and the only things I've managed to find so far are that the vase has a name—something related to purity—and _is,_ in fact, an heirloom that's been passed down through generations of Blacks."

Harry realised his jaw had fallen open, and quickly shut his mouth and cleared his throat. "That's pretty much all I asked you to find out, Buxley."

The wizard shrugged. "Well, for the amount of trouble my lads went through to get that information, and the number of dealers they had to threaten, I'd have been slightly happier if we had a little more to go on. A clue to who could've stolen it, for instance."

"Buxley, you've given me far more than I expected in just three days. Now that we know that the vase is legit, we can further our investigation," Harry said with a reassuring smile.

His deputy didn't seem to be placated, but before he could say anything else, the door to his office was thrown open and a gasping Hermione strode in, eyes wide and hair wild.

"I found it!" she exclaimed, holding up a square of parchment.

"Found what, Hermione?" he asked as Buxley jumped out of the chair and offered it to the panting brunette.

"This." She slapped the piece of paper down on his desk and placed a finger on it, her brown eyes dancing. "I figured out why the name Barkridge sounded so familiar."

He squinted at the small piece of parchment and could only see _Barkridge_ scribbled on it hurriedly. It was probably the paper she'd written the name on when he'd spoken with her the other day.

"And what's that?"

"You probably don't remember," she said as she waved her wand, and the procession of books that had followed her into the room slammed down on his desk. He sat back and coughed, eyeing the worn spines apprehensively. "But back when we were in Hogwarts," she continued, patting the topmost book, "I was reading the original version of _Hogwarts: A History,_ andI read about a German family that migrated to Britain and played quite an important role in the maintenance of the infrastructure of the school in its early years."

She finally sat down, causing Buxley, who had been standing very close to the chair, to jump back. She stared at Harry intently as she continued. "I remember being curious about them and doing a little out-of-text reading, which is where I remember reading about the Barkridges."

He frowned, unable to recall whatever she was talking about, but she didn't seem to notice as she continued on with her tale. "Well, theirs is a rather long history, and I don't want to bore you with it, so I'll just tell you the most important part: at some point in time the entire family, save for a disowned niece, was murdered, but what should have been an end to their bloodline ended up being the birth of another.

"The niece inherited her family's property and wealth because she was the only living blood relative, but she refused to cast away the life she had created for herself in favour of the life she had turned away from. And so, instead of returning to her home, she left all of her inherited wealth to her only daughter when she died. The girl, like her mother, didn't want to take on the family name, but instead decided to accept her inheritance under the name of her late husband, Leonard Barkridge, and that's how the Barkridge noble family came to be born."

She stopped in her information dump to take a breath, and eyed him with a look of anticipation. He wasn't entirely sure what the point of that story was, and was rather afraid to ask any further. He didn't have to, though, because Hermione continued anyway.

" _That's_ why the surname seemed so familiar. The Barkridges were one of the only Pureblood noble families to have not taken part in Voldemort's madness, to the extent of moving out of the country and back to Germany before the first war. There's been news of the previous head of the family's appearance in Britain several times after the second war, to help rebuild homes and hospitals for those who suffered, which is probably where you remember the name from, but they never returned here, and haven't been in the news for a long while, now, which was why I had forgotten about them."

He nodded, the last bit of what she'd said sparking a forgotten memory. "Yeah, yeah, I'm quite sure that's why I found the name familiar. I remember briefly meeting someone with the same surname once when I was on one of those relief missions after the war."

She nodded, beaming, and he smiled at her. "Thanks a ton, Hermione. You really helped us out."

"Oh, it's no problem at all. What am I here for, if not to help the Head Auror successfully close cases?"

He raised his eyebrows. "To look after the DMLE, I presumed," he answered, to which she waved her hand and rolled her eyes.

"Same difference. The Auror Department constitutes the largest task force of the DMLE. And anyway, one of the reasons I joined was so I could help you."

He patted her hand and smiled. "Thanks, Hermione."

She nodded, looking happy, and then motioned towards the books. "Well, I still have a mountain of work waiting for me, but if you want to read up on the Barkridges, I took the effort of marking the pages that contain information about them for you."

He thanked her again and walked her to the door. The moment he shut it, he turned to Buxley and said, "Have some of your lads take a look at those books and tell them they get a free lunch in the _Great Court,_ courtesy of Mrs Weasley."

"Sir," Buxley said as he Levitated the books from the desk and walked to the door.

"Oh, and Buxley?"

"Sir?"

"Send a summons to Miss Barkridge, please. I want to speak with her. Today."

"Right away, boss."

* * *

 **11:33 AM**

He waved at the wizard he'd just been speaking with and stepped into the Auror Office. Buxley strode up to him, a thick file in hand, and said, "Boss, the girl said she'll be here later this afternoon, if that's convenient for you."

He nodded. "The sooner the better. I want her and her vase out of our hair before the DMLE starts asking questions."

Buxley frowned. "I haven't noticed them snooping around here since Mrs Weasley joined. Should I let the lads know?"

He motioned to the younger Aurors in the break room, laughing at some joke one of the others had said, and Harry shook his head.

"I was only joking, Buxley. I've had a talk with Dyers after yesterday's meeting, and he agrees that Hermione acting as a mediator between us and the DMLE's higher ups would be the most efficient way to avoid any of the previous times' confusion or miscommunication."

Buxley snorted. " _Miscommunication_ my arse. They just wanted to get under your skin, is all. Those old goons don't know when to quit."

Harry shot Buxley a pointed look. "And you making comments like that won't help my case, either."

Buxley looked chastised, and knowing the man had meant well, Harry motioned to the file his deputy was holding. "What've you got there?"

"Oh, Rogers just gave me this. He compiled all the data we've got so far on the vandals and break-ins and whatnot." Buxley held the file closer to his chest. "Don't tell him I said so, but he's a real hard-worker, he is. Takes his job very seriously and does it well."

Harry smiled. It wasn't often that Buxley complimented one of his men. "I'd like to have a chat with Rogers after this vase case has been dealt with, then. I think it's time you had a deputy of your own, seeing how much you've got on your plate of late. If you agree, of course," he added as the other man's eyes widened.

"I'll let him know, sir!" Buxley said, his chest swelling with pride.

"You do that," Harry replied, clapping the wizard on the shoulder. "And let me know if your boys find anything useful from Hermione's books."

"Sure thing, boss."

"And Buxley?"

"Yeah?"

"Take a break."

Buxley grinned and did a mock bow. Harry laughed as he made his way to his office, greeting the Aurors he passed on his way. The day seemed to be going well so far, and he intended to keep it that way, whether or not his meeting with Camilla and

Malfoy turned out the same way.

* * *

 **1:17 PM**

He took a deep breath and held it as he stared at the door to his office. Less than a minute later, it opened to reveal Buxley, and Harry let out his breath.

"You leaving for lunch now, boss?"

"Yeah, I am. I'm meeting with someone, so I'm not entirely sure how long I'll be, so can you take care of Miss Barkridge when she arrives if I'm not back by then?"

Buxley made a face but nodded anyway. "Sure thing."

Harry cleared his throat and shot his deputy a small smile. "Thanks."

He continued to remain standing behind his desk, the tips of his fingers pressed against the cool glass, and Buxley eyed him curiously.

"You seem nervous, boss."

"Do I?"

Buxley snorted. "Like my fourteen-year-old waiting for his progress report."

Harry chuckled and came around the desk. He picked up his coat and slipped it on as he nodded to the other man. "Well, wish me luck."

Buxley simply raised his eyebrows and the papers he was holding, and said, "Here's to hoping you don't need it."

Harry laughed and spun on the spot, Apparating into the atrium. He stood for a moment and looked at the long queues of witches and wizards lined up in front of the Floos, wondering if it were better for him to simply Apparate into Antares. Deciding that it was the better choice, even if two consecutive Apparitions on an empty stomach would leave him extremely hungry, he strode out of the Ministry, walked to the closest Apparition point, and Disapparated.

The moment he felt solid ground beneath his feet, he also heard the familiar gurgle of his stomach and pressed a hand to it. _Maybe I should've taken a few minutes to grab a quick lunch._

"Move, move!"

He jumped out of the way as two boys rushed past him, arms stretched out on either side, till their mothers caught them by the ear and yelled at them. He smiled as he made his way to the lifts and decided that he would go see his kids once he was done for the day. He was used to going days without seeing them, but somehow, of late, he missed them much more than he had expected himself to.

He pressed the button and waited with two other Healers, half-heartedly listening in on their conversation to distract himself from thinking about Camilla and their lunch and his latest nightmare.

The lift pinged, and the magical voice announced its arrival. He stepped in behind the two Healers and waited for them to press the button to their level before he clicked on the one marked with the number two. He stood right in front of the doors, tapping his shoe to the rhythm of his hammering heart, as he watched the number on the display change.

The voice announced their arrival on the first floor, and he stepped to the side as the two Healers exited the lift, leaving him alone in the rather spacious metal contraption. Just as his stomach let out a loud gurgle, the voice announced his destination and the doors hissed open. Sighing, he quickly made his way out of the lift and walked straight down the hallway before coming to an abrupt stop.

He had no idea where the hell Malfoy's office was.

Swearing under his breath, he wondered if he should go down to the reception and ask them, when a familiar voice addressed him from behind.

"I was wondering whether you knew the way when you strode out of the lift so confidently, but I see that I was right in assuming that you didn't."

His heart jolted in his chest, and he half-turned to see Camilla. She was wearing white Healer's robes with the Antares insignia on the front pocket, and he stared at her tied hair and the clipboard under her arm before realising he'd never seen her in uniform before.

She glanced down at herself and said, "Ah, yes. Draco decided that the traditional, lime-green Healer's robes were much too gaudy for this day and age and that a pristine white suited our profession much better."

He nodded, unsure of what exactly to say to the piece of information he hadn't really asked for. She shifted, her cyan eyes growing darker, and he realised with a start that she, just like him, was trying to seem as normal as possible.

 _I keep forgetting that Mind Healers are normal people, too. Even if you can never tell from their calm, composed exterior._

He finally smiled and said, "Sorry, were you waiting for me? I didn't see you."

She nodded and returned his smile, seeming relieved. "I realised that when you zoomed right past me. I thought of calling out to you, but you stopped before I did."

He rubbed his neck sheepishly. "I was so focused on getting to Malfoy's office that I forgot I didn't know where it was."

She laughed, and the familiar, light, lilting sound allowed him to relax as she motioned back to where they had come from.

"I suppose I can let you in on a little secret," she said as they stopped in front of the lifts. She turned to face the hallways they'd come from and pointed to the bottom of the wall. "See that?"

He leaned forwards and squinted, wondering what exactly he was looking for, when he spotted it. One inch on either side, the edge where the wall met the ground was a darker shade than the cream wallpaper and a lighter shade than the chocolate-coloured carpet. He hummed in surprise and looked back at her.

She smiled. "It's one of Draco's more genius ideas. Each of the corridors is colour-coded so as to help our clients locate their respective Healers' offices." She motioned to her right and they walked to the corridor adjacent to the one they had come from. "See this?" He paused and noticed that the edge was a different colour again, but this time it was a shade darker than the carpet. "This one's black. And that one," Camilla said as she turned around and led him to the hallway on the opposite end, "is white."

They stopped at the entrance of the corridor so he could observe the edge of the wall, and he saw that it was, indeed, white. He glanced at her as they began walking down the corridor, and she continued in her explanation. "When we first bought this building, it was a one-floored shopping centre. Draco converted it into the Muggle clinic and Antares' lobby. He then added the first floor, but when our patient-base began to grow and the number of Healers who wanted to work for us increased, he decided to add another one. But, the foundation of the building wasn't deep enough to hold two extra floors, and because we rushed and made the mistake of not checking the infrastructure properly before jumping into construction, we didn't realise it sooner."

She paused as the large hallway branched into smaller ones. Flashing him a small smile, she continued, "Each of these is a different colour. Primary colours for the older offices and secondary colours for the newer ones." They continued down the same hallway. "But while reinforcing and strengthening the foundation, we realised that we didn't have the funds required to continue construction on the second floor. So Draco thought of something else—he'd invested in the cross-tech venture, and offered to let them use the second floor for their research if they funded the construction of it."

She shrugged as they reached a corridor that looked familiar. He spotted the single, white door and they made their way towards it. "The colour-coding was so that the researchers knew which room was where, since there are so many, and once they left, and we added more rooms and corridors, we continued to use the same system."

She finished talking just as they came to stop in front of the door, and as she knocked, his heart began to race again, but he was much calmer than he had been when he'd arrived. He glanced at Camilla and wondered if she'd only told him all of that simply to keep him occupied and distract him so he could calm down. It was a technique he had learnt and used in his years as an Auror, whenever he had to question particularly nervous witnesses, and couldn't help but smile as he entered the office.

"Good afternoon, Mister Potter," Malfoy said in his professional tone of voice as he came around his desk and offered Harry his hand.

Harry shook it once, the smile still on his face. "I hope I'm not bothering you with my consecutive visits."

"Not at all." He motioned for Harry to take a seat while he returned to the chair behind his desk. Camilla had pulled her chair to the side so she was seated closer to Malfoy. "In fact, it would be a problem if you didn't come often enough."

He clasped his hands and smiled serenely, reminding Harry once again that this man was completely different from the Draco Malfoy he knew.

"Alright, straight down to business, then," Camilla started as she grabbed a file and began pulling out sheets of parchment.

"Before that, Mister Potter, have you eaten?"

"Ah, I didn't have the time, actually," he admitted. He hoped the two of them hadn't heard the loud groans coming from his stomach.

Malfoy only smiled and clapped his hands. Harry turned to the side, and just as expected, Leeky the House-Elf appeared, bowing low.

"How may Leeky be of service to masters and mistress?"

"Leeky, Mister Potter would like some tea and something light to eat, please." He then turned to Harry and said, "I hope you don't mind, it would take longer for her to prepare a meal."

"Oh, no, please. You really don't have to bother," he said, rather embarrassed, but Malfoy waved away his refusal.

"I insist." He then turned to the elf. "Make that a cup of tea and two cups of coffee, Leeky."

"Black for me, please," Camilla piped up, making a little motion with her hand, and Leeky bowed again.

"Leeky is understanding master and mistress. Leeky is bringing tea and coffees and foods."

She disappeared with a _pop,_ leaving Harry feeling awkward, and he berated himself for not having eaten before an important meeting.

He looked up to see Malfoy observing him, and the moment their eyes met, the two wizards broke into awkward smiles. They simply stared at each other for a moment before Harry dropped his gaze and cleared his throat. He glanced towards Camilla and saw that she was biting her lip, her cheeks flushed. He didn't blame her for finding the awkwardness between him and Malfoy amusing. After all, he assumed that if she and Malfoy were as close as he expected them to be, she must've heard her fair bit of stories about the relationship that Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter shared.

"Well, then," Malfoy started, looking as composed as ever. "I hope you don't mind me beginning before the food arrives. I'm a little pressed for time."

"I am, too, actually." Harry said. "I had to leave in the middle of handling a case, so I would appreciate if we could skip the formalities and get right down to the crux of things."

"Of course. Camilla?" Malfoy held out a hand, and she handed him a stack of papers.

She then sat back and hummed, a sort of disinterested look on her face, as though she was disappointed that the meeting wouldn't be longer.

"I've heard from Camilla that you would like to be assigned to a different Healer," Malfoy said without looking up from rearranging the sheets.

"I would, if that's not too much trouble."

Malfoy nodded. "Not at all. In fact, I was suggesting the same to her before she decided to… take you out to lunch." He glanced towards Camilla, and she pouted rather childishly, making Harry smile.

"I suppose it makes it easier since I haven't signed an official form naming her my Healer."

Malfoy nodded again. "It does. Since you're in a hurry, I have a list of available Healers' bios here from which you can take your pick. I have chosen only the most qualified, of course," he added, as though he wanted to make sure that not having Camilla as his Healer wouldn't mean Harry had to accept the second best.

He took the forms and flipped through them, quickly skimming through names and faces. Before he could say anything, though, Camilla piped up.

"Draco, you're not currently very busy, are you? And you haven't taken any clients in a while."

Malfoy's brows furrowed in the slightest. "No," he said slowly. "Why?"

Camilla smiled, and her eyes twinkled in a way that made Harry fear for the worst. "Then why not be Mister Potter's Healer yourself?"

Malfoy's frown deepened, and Harry fixed Camilla with wide eyes. "What?" they both asked.

Camilla looked between the two men and said, "Well, it only makes logical sense. Besides, you _are_ the best Mind Healer in Antares, Draco, if not the country. It's a pity you choose to take so few clients."

"Camilla," Malfoy said, his smile chipped and his voice crisp. "That is for Mister Potter to decide. He's in a hurry right now, and I would rather he make an important decision such as this when he's in a more relaxed frame of mind."

"I really appreciate it," Harry added quickly before Camilla could retort. "But Malfoy's right. I would like some time to look through this list and make my choice."

Camilla seemed disappointed that things hadn't gone the way she had planned, but Malfoy simply spared her a cursory glance before turning back to Harry.

"A wise choice. You can take all the time you want, this is an important decision after all."

Harry nodded as he looked back the list. "Is there a possibility for me to meet with some of them before I make my choice? I haven't really seen or spoken to them, so it might be difficult."

Malfoy seemed to consider that for a moment, then bowed his head. "Of course, there will be a few initial meetings with the Healer you choose, but if you want to interview each of them…"

"Not _all_ of them, of course not," Harry said quickly, realising that what he was asking for was rather unreasonable. "But I can't really make a choice with just pictures and bios, you know?"

Malfoy seemed to brood over that for a moment, and Camilla took the opportunity to say, "Which is why I suggested that you be his Healer."

They turned to her, both eyeing her apprehensively, and she smiled wide. "You both are familiar enough, and Mister Potter would only need another meeting or two to familiarise himself with you as a Healer." She shrugged. "It makes sense. You're the best at what you do, Draco, and Mister Potter wouldn't have to go through the trouble of choosing another Healer from people he doesn't know. Especially since this—" she motioned between herself and Harry, "—has never happened before."

"Camilla," Malfoy all but snapped as he rose to his feet. "A word?"

She sighed softly as she stood, shot Harry a smile, and touched his shoulder as she walked past.

He watched as they walked to the far side of the room. Malfoy's back was towards him, but from his rigid posture and his tense shoulders, Harry could tell that he was agitated. Camilla, on the other hand, was enthusiastically trying to get the blond to see the appeal in her suggestion.

Harry turned away from them and glanced at the desk, reading all the different awards displayed on it. At the far side, in a small, silver frame, was a picture of Malfoy's son, and as he eyed the awards and thought back to the last time he'd been there, Harry realised that Camilla was right. Although the history they shared was far worse, he would still be better off with Malfoy as his Healer since the man had actually witnessed everything Harry had been through for most of those seven years, and Harry knew that Malfoy had suffered more than enough at the hands of Voldemort. If anyone could understand what Harry was going through, it would be Malfoy.

Just as he was coming to a decision, the two returned. As he took his seat, Malfoy said, "I apologise for Camilla's outrageous idea. I understand that you would like to get to know the person you decide to confide in, so maybe there is some way for us to make that happen."

"Actually," Harry said, placing the list on the desk. "I do see some merit in what Camilla suggested."

He saw her brighten from the corner of his eyes, and had to bite back a smile. Although she was older than him by a year, he was coming to find that she had a rather childish, and very likeable personality, and he was rather glad that they could now have an informal relationship. He was interested in finding out what Camilla as a friend was like, since he already knew Camilla the Mind Healer.

"You do?" Malfoy asked, a stunned expression on his face. Harry didn't blame him. Anybody would have expected him to reject the very idea of spilling all of his deepest, darkest secrets with someone who had been his nemesis for the longest time.

Harry shrugged. "I think it might be mutually beneficial." When Malfoy's wide-eyed expression didn't change, he added, "All I'm suggesting is that we try it out. You _did_ help me previously, I've already acknowledged that, and if it doesn't work out, then I can return to the list."

Malfoy sighed, looking tired, and finally nodded. "If that is your choice, I can barely argue with it, considering we've already put you through this ordeal of having to choose a different Healer."

Harry's watch started to beep just then, and he realised that he had to leave now, if he wanted to grab a quick lunch before he met Lisa. "I'm sorry, but I've really got to go."

He rose from his seat, and both Malfoy and Camilla stood up with him. They walked him to the door, and Harry said, "I'm really sorry for all the trouble. Is it possible for us to meet sometime soon to reach a decision?"

Malfoy smiled and nodded. "Of course. When would be a convenient time for you?"

"Er," he said, checking his watch. "Do you mind if I let you know soon? I'll send you a letter."

Malfoy nodded, and Harry extended his hand. "Thanks again."

The blond shook it once. "Of course. I only regret that you don't have time for some tea."

His phone started to ring, and he grimaced. "Head Auror's duties never end, I'm afraid."

Camilla stepped forwards and smiled. "I'll walk you to the lift."

Harry nodded. "Thanks." As he stepped outside to take the call, he noticed Camilla grin at Malfoy, and he shot her a furious look.

"Boss?" Buxley's voice said from the other end.

"Yeah, I'm on my way. Just ask her a few basic questions—"

"That's not it. We've got a problem."

He pursed his lips and asked Buxley to hold the line as he turned to Malfoy and Camilla. "Actually, do you mind if I take a rain check on our next meeting?"

They looked concerned, but Malfoy said, "Of course," and instructed Camilla to walk Harry to the lifts.

He turned back to Buxley and belatedly realised that he might not have time for lunch after all. "All right. I'm on my way. Fill me in."

* * *

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

* * *

 **A/n: I just _adore_ Buxley. He's like one of those cuddly, adorable papa bears and his and Harry's interactions are just so precious. I also adore Camilla, and I'm glad that she and Harry can be friends now because she's super duper fun and chilled out. Well, Malfoy isn't very happy about being Harry's Healer. I wonder why.**

 **So yes, cliffie! I thought it was about time there was a cliffhanger.**

 **What happened was that I'd actually written this a while back, but I've been way too busy to get back to proof-read it and stuff. Finally had the time today, so I decided I was going to post it.**

 **I'm also getting back to writing the first ever HP story I wrote and posted, _Every Rose Has Its Thorn,_ [it's a Scorpius and Rose story] because it's been almost a year since I posted it and I want to complete it soon. I've also started writing another Scorose mini-series, but I just don't have the time so that's gonna have to wait. If any of y'all are Scorose fans, follow me so that you get an alert if and when I post the story. **

**Well, that's that! Let me know what you thought about this chapter, your opinions and comments are what makes me want to keep writing!**

 **P.S. that weird design in between the horizontal line breaks is just because I hate FFN's new bold formatting so I wanted to make the bifurcation more obvious. I'll take it out next chapter if it's too weird lol.**

 **P.P.S. wish me luck on my exam tomorrow.**

 **Lots of love~**

 **Arty xx**


	16. 16 Lies: Quick Descent

**A/n: Guess who updated on timeee! Me me me that's right! I'm hoping I can update fairly regularly for a while, but my finals are coming up, so let's see how things go.**

 **P.S. Some important things have been mentioned in the Author's note at the bottom. Make sure to look at it.**

* * *

 **Chapter 16**

 **Quick Descent**

* * *

 **[12 November 2011]**

 **3:02 PM**

"And you checked everywhere?"

"I already told you I did!"

He sighed as he watched the sniffling brunette seated before him and wondered if she was being scatter-brained on purpose.

"If you're wondering if I'm doing this on purpose, I assure you that I am not."

Surprised, he blinked, and she sniffed, glaring down at her reflection on the glass tabletop. "I really _did_ take all the necessary precautions. Whoever stole the vase must've found out that I'd come to you for help and stole the blueprint in order to threaten me."

She looked up at him, eyeing him expectantly, but he only held his hands up and shook his head. "In the end, everything you just said is mere conjecture. We can't know anything for sure until such time that my men find some clue as to what exactly happened to the blueprint."

"I'm telling you it's been stolen! They stole it from me just like they stole the vase! Why won't you believe me?"

She made a frustrated sound and pressed her handkerchief to her cheeks. After a moment, she started to say something else, but a sudden thought struck him.

"Lisa…"

"Yes?"

"Who are _they?"_

She frowned. "I'm sorry?"

"You said _they_ stole the vase and the blueprint from you. Who does _they_ refer to?"

Something flickered in her eyes, and she quickly waved her hand, laughing in a high-pitched voice. "I don't know! I was just referring to the thieves, I suppose. I really don't know who would've wanted to steal from me."

He raised his eyebrows. "Really? No idea at all?"

She shook her head.

"Not even the slightest clue?"

She shook her head again, but she seemed conflicted. Sensing her hesitation, he leaned forwards and smiled kindly. "Lisa, you came to me for help, didn't you?"

She nodded.

"And I fully intend to help you find your vase and catch the thieves that stole it."

She stared at the table and sniffed.

"But before I can help you, I'm going to need _you_ to help _me."_

She finally glanced up at him, and he made his smile look as reassuring as possible. He waited patiently as she fiddled with her skirt, still hesitant. She seemed to be having a difficult time speaking, which came as a surprise to him, considering she was the one who had demanded that he help her, and now that he actually wanted to, she was unwilling to talk.

After five minutes of him staring at her, and her chewing on her lip, he decided that there was no point in trying to coax anything out of her. He had just arrived on the scene a few minutes ago and had been given a brief rundown of what had happened before he had spoken to her. He needed more information, but more than anything, he needed food. His temples were throbbing, and her unwillingness to speak up was starting to irritate him.

He excused himself before he lost his temper, and walked to where his deputy was giving two other Aurors some instructions. Once they were gone, he jerked his chin to the side and said, "She's hiding something."

Buxley scoffed. "I'll say. When we got that frantic memo from the front desk about some girl threatening to sue the Auror Department, I had a feeling there was much more to this story then she's been letting on."

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "So, what're you suggesting?"

His deputy shrugged and said in a low voice, "The vase might be real, but what's to say that _she_ isn't the one that stole it in the first place?"

Harry frowned. "What makes you say that?"

Buxley eyed him for a moment and then asked, "Boss, have you eaten?"

"Not yet."

Buxley nodded thoughtfully. "That explains it, then."

Harry frowned. "Explains what?"

"Why you're being slow on the uptake." He glanced sideways and hollered for one of his men. When the fellow arrived, he said, "Mason, go 'round the corner and buy one of those large, Muggle burgers with extra everything. Here, take this."

Mason took the scrunched up Muggle notes from Buxley's hand and Disapparated. Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm your boss, you know. Not your son."

Buxley snorted. "You're half my age. You may as well be."

"You're not sixty!"

"And you're not going to solve anything on an empty stomach." Buxley eyed him sideways and said, "Food first, case next. It's one of the iron rules we Aurors go by. You of all people should know that. You're useless on an empty stomach."

"Yes, Father," Harry said in a sarcastic voice, but Buxley only cracked a smile in reply.

"That's a lad."

Harry scoffed. "Why don't you take a crack at her while I go make sure she hasn't already destroyed evidence or something?"

Buxley hefted up his pants and nodded. "Sounds like a plan. I'll send Mason your way once he's back."

He nodded his thanks and made his way to the back of the luxury suite. Pausing at the bedroom doorway, he watched the other Aurors as they went about searching for clues, and motioned to the closest one.

The blond strode up to him, looking serious. "Sir?"

"How's it going? Found anything yet?"

The fellow shook his head. "Nothing out of the ordinary. Just some clothing and jewellery."

He frowned. "Wait, where did you find them?"

"Clothes were still in her suitcase, but we found a jewellery box in the safe." The blond pointed to the open safe.

Harry clapped the man on the shoulder and made his way to the safe. "Damage report?" he asked the Auror kneeling before it.

"None, sir," the man said, a confused expression on his face. "Which is very strange. The thief stole some ratty old blueprint, discarded its envelope, and left everything else untouched? Especially in a suite like this?" He motioned to the extravagant chandelier hanging from the ceiling and the paintings hung around the room. "That's unheard of."

He nodded. He was thinking the same thing. First of all, the thieves stole the vase. He wasn't yet sure whether or not the perpetrators knew that the vase was a monumental artefact from the war, and that it had belonged to the Blacks. And if they did know, and that was the reason for why they had stolen the vase, why'd they come back for a seemingly useless blueprint? Was it because, as Lisa had claimed, they were trying to threaten her into silence?

But if that were true, they would be doing something more drastic, like overturning her hotel room or leaving a threatening message behind, not stealing a piece of parchment. So either Lisa was lying, or she had actually misplaced the blueprint and was just being paranoid, or there was a missing piece to this puzzle that he had every intention of finding. Whatever the case, now that he was looking for some answers, he wasn't going to stop till he got them—whether Lisa was willing to talk or not.

"Sir!"

He looked towards the doorway where one of the Aurors, who'd been investigating the envelope the blueprint had been in, was standing. The man jerked his thumb over his shoulder and exited the room, and Harry followed after him. They stopped at the cordoned-off area at the very back of the room, and the Auror who had come to call him tapped the Auror bent over the table on the back. "Hughes."

Hughes looked up and nodded at Harry as he pulled off the goggles he was wearing and held them out to him. "You might wanna take a look at this."

Harry put on the goggles and bent down to examine the unfolded envelope. At first, he didn't see it, but a moment later it was clear. In invisible ink, written diagonally across the envelope, was a note. A threat, to be more specific. Aimed at him.

' _Haven't you learned that poking your nose in others' business gets you killed?'_

He straightened up, took a deep breath, and shuddered. The two Aurors shifted, watching him with measured expressions. He pulled off the goggles, handed it over to Hughes, cleared his throat, and said, "Box it. Take it down to Headquarters. See if Romney can pull prints off of it."

The two nodded and began the process of sealing the evidence in a magically reinforced box. He left them to themselves and strode across the room. Catching Buxley's eye, he jerked his head to the side and walked to the far wall. Buxley excused himself and walked over, looking tense.

"Did she decide to talk?" Harry asked as his deputy flipped through the little notebook he always carried around.

"Well," the wizard replied, holding up the black book, "I can't say if any of the rubbish she went on about is relevant to the case or not."

Harry sighed. "I'll take a look at it when we get back. Anyway, your lads found something far more interesting."

"What's that?"

"A note."

Buxley's eyebrows slowly pulled together in a frown. "What note?"

Harry shrugged and ran a hand through his hair. "Been a while since I've received a threatening message."

Buxley rolled his neck with a groan, and Harry winced as it cracked. "Right. Threatening message. Where was it written?"

"On the envelope." Buxley opened his mouth, but Harry cut him off. "In invisible ink."

His deputy glanced at Lisa and said, "No wonder she didn't notice it. I was just about ready to take our conversation to the next level."

Harry was about to reply when he noticed Mason waving to him. He was holding up a paper bag and mouthing the word _lunch._ Harry chuckled and held up his thumb. The younger Auror strode towards them, handed Harry the bag, bowed slightly, and rushed off. Buxley watched him go and snorted. "Can't tell if he's too eager or just dim-witted, that one."

"I couldn't care less," Harry replied as he pulled the burger out and took a massive bite. "'E go' me 'unch."

Buxley eyed him with mild disgust and said, "You want me to bring her in for questioning?"

He nodded. "Yeah," he answered after he swallowed. "I want her there when we uncover worthwhile information. I'm still on the fence about whether or not she's a complete liar."

Buxley nodded and headed back over to Lisa, leaving him to enjoy his hasty lunch in peace. He had just downed the scalding coffee when he felt his phone vibrate against his thigh and pulled it out. The moment he saw the caller ID, his eyebrows shot up into his hairline and he pressed the phone to his ear.

"Hello, Ginny?"

"Harry!" came the excited response from the other end, and he found himself feeling instantly relieved after hearing his wife's voice.

"Hi! Where've you been?"

"Oh, all _over_ the place! Wait till you see my article. I found out the most gossip-worthy news about the Bats' Seeker. It would make Skeeter burn with envy."

He grinned. "That's my girl. So you've been well, then?"

"Yes, yes, perfectly fine. Mostly stressed-out and sleep-deprived, but nothing I haven't handled before."

He nodded as he watched Lisa jump to her feet and start yelling at Buxley. "Listen, I'm in the middle of a case right now, so I'll call you tonight?"

"Of course, sweetheart. Don't forget!"

"I won't. Bye, Gin," he said hurriedly as he moved towards the sofas. Buxley was trying to calm her down, but it wasn't working.

"Bye, Harry. I love you."

"Love you too," he muttered, and just as he pulled the phone from his ear, he heard the sound of a child's voice, but he was too preoccupied at the moment to dwell on it. "Hey!" He grabbed Lisa and forcefully sat her down, pinning her hands against the sofa and jamming her knees between his, effectively restraining her. "Easy, there," he said, staring into her red eyes.

"How _dare_ you!" she screamed at Buxley. "How _dare_ you accuse me of committing such heinous crimes!"

"I never accused—" Buxley began, but Harry shot him a look, and he shut up.

"Lisa. Lisa, hey, look at me." He had to bend to the side and block her view of Buxley for her to finally look at him.

"What?" she demanded.

"I don't know my deputy told you, but I'm sure he was out of line. I apologise on his behalf." He bowed his head while continuing to maintain eye contact with her.

She stopped struggling and stared at him for a long moment before sticking her nose in the air and saying, "You have no reason to apologise for a mistake that isn't yours, sir."

 _At least she's still calling me sir. That's a good sign… I think._

"Right, well, it's my duty as his superior."

"As long as you put him in his place," she muttered, throwing a disdainful look in Buxley's direction.

Harry smiled and nodded, and when she shifted uncomfortably, he let go of her wrists and stepped back. "I'm sorry for everything you've had to go through, Lisa. So I think it would be in your best interests to come back to the Auror Headquarters with us. That way we can keep you safe."

She sniffed and nodded. Rising up and adjusting her dress, she strode across the room and into her bedroom, ordering the Aurors out and slamming the door in their faces.

Harry turned to his fuming deputy and held his hands up in surrender. "I was just doing my job."

"Good cop-bad cop? Really, Potter?"

He winced at having been addressed by his surname. Buxley only ever called him Potter when he was _really_ annoyed. Harry shrugged. "Works every time."

Buxley threw his hands up and strode out of the room, grumbling under his breath. After a moment, there was a muffled _pop_. Harry nodded to the rest of his men. "Wrap it up. We're moving this investigation back to HQ."

The men shuffled around cleaning stuff up, and he made his way to the bedroom door and knocked softly. "Whenever you're ready, Lisa."

There was silence from the other side, and after a minute, he began to panic, but the door cracked open and she stepped out, head bowed, looking shame-faced. "I must apologise to Auror Buxley for my behaviour. It was uncalled for."

He smiled and gave in to his urge to pet her head. Reaching out, he gently patted her hair and said, "That's an excellent idea."

She offered him a small smile, and he stepped back, motioning to the door. "After you."

Once all of his men were piled into the black, Muggle van, whose interiors were magically expanded to fit them all in, he opened the passenger door and helped Lisa in. He climbed in after her and shared a look with Buxley, who was driving, and they set off.

* * *

 **5:19 PM**

He sighed as went through Buxley's notes for the dozenth time. The frustration of not having found any leads coupled with the fact that he was unable to place two and two together was making him agitated. There was a knock, and he looked up to find his deputy standing in the doorway, holding up a file.

"Found anything from reading between the lines?" he asked as he trudged up to the desk and flopped down on the chair.

Harry tossed the book towards him. "There're either too many lines to read between, or there's not enough."

Buxley scoffed as he pocketed the book. "The girl apologised to me, so I took the opportunity to get her talking."

He sat back in his chair. "And?"

"And, she confirmed everything we already knew about her family's background." He placed the file on the desk and pulled out two sheaves of paper. He pushed one towards Harry and placed the other one in front of him. "I know you read about it already, but I'mma brief you anyway—Lisanna Barkridge's parents, Jenson and Amber Barkridge, were presumed to have died in an accident two years ago. But rumour has it that the accident was rigged, and after Miss Barkridge's grandfather's untimely death soon after her seventeenth birthday—which was a month ago, by the way—rumour turned into suspicion, and there've been claims of some one, or multiple some ones, trying to cut down the heads of the family one after the other."

He paused, and Harry flipped through the sheets, skimming through the details. Buxley continued. "But I _did_ find out something interesting, though." When Harry eyed him curiously, he said, "Miss Barkridge confirmed that her father's aide, and close friend, Erhard Hertzfeld—who was reported missing after Jenson and Amber's deaths—might have something to do not only with their deaths, but also with the missing vase."

Harry nodded, and Buxley frowned. "Why d'you look like you anticipated some sort of conspiracy to be afoot?"

"Well," Harry said, "for starters, whoever targeted Lisa today and stole the blueprint not only knew that she was here, in London, but also where she was staying, _and_ that she had asked for my help—if that threatening message meant for my eyes only was any indication."

Buxley nodded slowly, still not looking convinced. Harry continued. "I didn't put this down in the report because it didn't seem important—but when she first came to me, Lisa mentioned that her late grandfather had insisted that I'm the only one who could help her." He frowned thoughtfully. "I dismissed it as something unimportant, but now that I think about it, if her grandfather was murdered right after her seventeenth birthday, but still knew to tell her to come to me…" He looked up at his deputy. "Buxley, when exactly did she say the vase was stolen from her?"

The balding wizard flipped through the papers and said, "Er, a day before she arrived here. At least, that's what she said in her testimony."

Harry nodded. "So that means this grandfather of hers _knew_ that the vase was in danger of being stolen. I don't know why he thought I could help—maybe because he'd met me and spoken with me briefly before—but either way, this isn't our typical stolen object case."

Buxley nodded. "Are you implying that this missing aide might be somehow involved?"

Harry shrugged. "It seems the most logical explanation. If this fellow disappeared after his employers' deaths, it has to be for two reasons: he either has something to hide, or is hiding _from_ something."

Buxley rose to his feet, a determined expression on his face. "What's my next move, boss?"

Harry thought for a moment before saying, "I want you to get a hold of as much information as you can about the Barkrdiges' murders, and whatever intelligence you can glean from your lad in the German task force about Erhard Whatshisname."

Buxley made a face. "Easier said than done. The German force doesn't exactly have the biggest talkers."

"Doesn't matter. Go talk to Hermione if you need help with permissions, and make sure," he paused, giving the other man a pointed look, "that the higher ups knows _exactly_ what you're up to."

Buxley's frown eased, and he had a knowing expression in his eyes. "And what're _you_ gonna do?"

Harry grinned. "I think it's time I called on an old friend."

* * *

 **7:36 PM**

He checked his watch again and sighed. He'd been waiting for three quarters of an hour already, and he was starting to get impatient. Although the call had been sudden, and he didn't exactly have the right to complain, considering the other party had agreed to meet with him on such short notice, he still couldn't help his annoyance.

Nearly half an hour later, he spotted her enter the park and waved. She caught sight of him and waved back, walking around to where he was. He grinned as he rose to his feet and hugged her.

"So sorry I'm late. I had to take care of a few things, first."

"'S alright." He motioned to the bench and sat down. "So, how've you been?"

"Oh, you know how it is. Work, work, work." She waved her hand, but didn't seem like she was complaining. She turned to him and smiled. "What about you? I heard Ginny's covering the tournament."

He nodded. "Yeah, yeah. We're all good, here."

They sat in silence for a moment, and just as he was about to speak, she said, "I was rather surprised when Parvati contacted me saying you had something urgent you wanted to discuss."

She glanced at him sideways, and he cleared his throat. "Yeah, sorry 'bout that. I didn't really know how to get a hold of you."

She tilted her head and said, "My sister's very annoyed that she has to constantly play the role of a receptionist and take down everybody's messages for me."

They laughed at that, and then he asked, "So, how's Germany treating you?"

"Very well, thanks for asking. So, this thing you wanted to talk about…"

He looked around to make sure there wasn't anybody suspicious in the vicinity, and then pulled out the file Buxley had left him. He held it out to her, but before she could take it, he said, "Look, Padma, I don't want to involve you in some international skirmish, so if you don't want to—"

"Oh, give me that." She grabbed the file and flipped through it, squinting as she read from the dull light of the overhead lamp, and her expression frew dark by the time she was done. She held up the file and looked at him. "This is some serious stuff you've landed yourself in, Harry."

He shook his head with a sigh. "Didn't have a choice in the matter. And I swear I had no idea how much more there was to it when I accepted the case."

She looked at the file and said, "Well, let's just say, if I involve myself in this any further, I'll be putting my job on the line."

He held up his hands. "I know. And I understand if you don't want to have anything to do with it, but—"

"You didn't let me finish." She smiled, her dark eyes shining. "I only said that this puts me in a tough spot. I never said anything about not helping you."

He exhaled, relieved, and nodded. "I owe you one."

"Oh, you owe me big time. And I'll make sure you don't forget it."

He snorted. "No worries there. So, what can you tell me about this case?"

She snapped the file shut and placed a palm down on it. Looking around, she pulled the tip of her wand out from inside the sleeve of her coat and muttered a quiet _Muffliato._ Once she had cast the spell, she sat back and looked at him. "Truth be told, I don't know all the details about the Barkridge couple's murder as I wasn't in the country at the time, but I what I _can_ tell you is that the general suspicion regarding the accident being orchestrated by a third party is true."

He inhaled deeply and waited for her to continue.

"Although the cause for the old man Barkridge's death was passed off as being natural, taking his age and prolonged bouts of illnesses into consideration, the timing of it was all too suspicious—not to mention Hertzfeld's mysterious disappearance. So, a team from my unit was assigned to secretly backtrack the lines of investigation by a certain _someone_ , while the German Ministry declared the case closed."

She patted the file and said, "They didn't get very far before they were shut down."

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"The Barkridges are a very powerful family even in Germany. Only a month after old man Barkridge's death, the secret investigation was called off by the same someone who had authorised it, and everything related to the event was swept under the rug."

His heart beginning to race, he asked, "Are you telling me that Lisanna Barkridge's arrival in London wasn't a coincidence?"

She merely shrugged a shoulder. "I don't have enough evidence to make that claim, but everything that I told you so far came directly from the horse's mouth—and by that, I mean my dear friend who headed the investigation."

"What does that mean?"

"That means that I can't say anymore than I already have, and if you really want my advice, I suggest you shut this case down immediately and wipe your hands clean of it."

She handed him the file and stood up, eyeing him expectantly. He shook his head. "You know I can't do that."

She nodded, looking like she had expected as much. "Then my job here is done. And I would ask you to not contact me again regarding this matter."

He pursed his lips as he rose to his feet, and held his hand out. She took one look at his hand and scoffed. "Please, Harry. We've known each other long enough to not let business get in the way of our friendship."

He bowed his head and held his arms out. "You're right."

She smiled and stepped into his embrace, but before she pulled away, she brought her lips very close to his ear, as though she was kissing him on the cheek, and whispered, "If you need me, you know how to find me."

Stepping back, she waved once, and spinning on her heel, she strode back the way she had come. By the time he glanced down at the file in his hands and back up, she was gone.

* * *

 _ **Somewhere in the outskirts of London**_

"What do you mean you don't have it?!"

The man flinched and cowered behind the parchment he was holding up as he said, "We—We looked _everywhere._ She doesn't have it. The vase is gone."

He roared, slamming a fist on the hardwood table. " _Gone? Gone!_ I give you _one_ fucking job, and you screw it up! You just had to steal a _vase!_ A bloody _vase,_ for Morgana's sake!"

"I—I'm sor—"

" _Avada Kedavra!"_

He watched as there was a flash of green light, and the man crumpled to the ground, still clutching the piece of torn parchment. Walking around the table, he leaned down and snatched the worn blueprint, eyeing the small arrow marks that pointed away from the word _gold._ Crying out in frustration, he ripped the parchment to shreds and threw it aside, kicking the corpse angrily.

"What good is it to kill off all the useful ones?"

He looked up to see a woman in a long, fur coat standing in the doorway. She was standing against the light, so her face was cast in shadow, but there was no mistaking the cruel gleam in her jade eyes.

" _Useful?"_ He scoffed as he kicked the body again. "If this worthless piece of garbage is what you consider _useful,_ then I only pray that the one you picked up shows extraordinary promise."

She laughed, a mirthless, cackling sound, and stepped into the room. "Oh, I would never stoop so low as to pay off street vermin to do an important task. No wonder you never get the job done."

He growled and stepped right in front of her, barely an inch between them, and spat in her face. She didn't even flinch. Her eyes grew cold, and the smirk dropped off her face as she raised her wand and Scoured the spittle off her cheek. She then murmured something, and before he could register what she'd said, there was the sound of splintering wood, and he felt a sharp stab between his shoulder blades.

She smiled again, a vicious look in her eyes, as she said, "I wanted to wait a little longer before I stabbed you in the back, but I hold fast to what I said before: street vermin are of absolutely no use when you need something to be done."

He gasped for breath, but the spike had punctured his lung, and he retched, splattering his already dirty shirt with blood. Collapsing onto his knees, he looked up into her icy eyes and swore, once and for all, that he would never make the mistake of working with evil bitches again.

She watched as he fell to the side, eyes wide, and she reached out with her foot to nudge his cheek. "Disgusting," she said with a sigh.

"Must you be so gruesome in your means of getting rid of hindrances?"

She looked over her shoulder to the tall man in the doorway and fluttered her eyelashes, a throaty giggle escaping her lips. "I don't question your methods, and you don't question mine. That was our agreement, was it not?"

He shifted, and she noticed the rather large box in his hands. With an exclamation of delight, she spun around and strode up to him. She reached for the box, but left her hands hovering inches away from it, eyes wide and shining. "Is this it? The unattainable vase of purity?"

He nodded once, and she threw her head back, a peal of maniacal laughter spilling from her painted lips. "Oh, I knew I made the right decision in tracking you down."

His expression was unreadable as he stepped aside to let her pass. She hummed a little tune, twirling her wand in her hand, eyes never leaving her prize, but even as she whirled around, wand snapping upwards, she knew she had been out-conned. The spell hit her square in the chest, throwing her against the wall, and she slid to the floor, a menacing grin stretching across her face.

With the last remnants of her breath, she rasped, "I see that you are not to be taken lightly..." Her breath caught, and as he stepped into the light, she focused on the burns that mutilated the right half of his face, his steely eyes hard and cold, as she muttered her final words: "Erhard Hertzfeld."

* * *

 **A/n: 1. Since some of you have mentioned this before, I thought I would address it- I haven't forgotten that this is a Drarry story, and I know it seems like I'm derailing from the main plot, but as I said in the very beginning, this story focuses on Harry's life and his relationships before it gets to the Drarry. Let's just say I'm building a strong foundation for Drarry to build their mansion on. Also, I promise you that this case is imperative for what comes next, and it ends in the next chapter, so look forward to that.**

 **2\. In case you haven't guessed already, Padma Patil works in the special task force for the German Ministry, which is basically their version of the Auror system, except her unit's more into intelligence gathering and behind-the-scenes work than how the Aurors fight upfront and stuff. They're like a tamer version of the Hit Wizards. Also, she's one of my favourite minor characters because a. She's Indian (like me), and b. unlike what the movies have tricked us into believing, she's actually a Ravenclaw (like me). So yeah, I just wanted to feature her in a badass role in this story.**

 **That's basically all I wanted to say. And that last bit was just a little something I decided to throw in because I missed writing suspense and mystery stuff.**

 **Let me know what you thought of this chapter! And about Padma and Erhard! I'll be waiting for your reviews, as always.**

 **Thank you for reading~**

 **Lots of love~**

 **Arty xx**


	17. 17 Lies: An End in Sight

**Chapter 17**

 **An End in Sight**

* * *

 **[13 November 2011]**

 **8:02 AM**

He sighed as he looked over all the information he had about the case once more. Pacing up and down his office, he flipped to the final page of the file, staring down at the one name that was causing him more distress than anything or anyone had in a very long time.

 _Erhard Hertzfeld._

He glanced through the notes he'd added in after his meeting with Padma, replaying the most important details over and over again in his head.

 _Dead man's aide and close friend… whereabouts unknown… lead suspect… murderer… rumours of betrayal…_

There was something about the man's story that was very familiar… as though he had had heard it all before… but he just couldn't his finger on it.

Groaning, he looked at the clock on his desk and thought back to the promise he had made Ginny the previous evening. Not only had he not called her last night, he hadn't even had a chance to leave her a message because of how caught up in the case he had been. He'd even ended up spending another night on the sofa in his office, and his lack of sleep, plus the addition of a backache, was just adding to his long list of problems.

He tossed the file on his table and stood staring at it. After a moment, he picked up his Self-Inking Quill and circled Hertzfeld's name multiple times. Placing his palms on either side of the file, he leaned all his weight on his hands as he racked his brains, trying to find the missing piece of the puzzle.

 _What is it about him that makes me feel like I know him?_ he wondered. They'd never met, he was sure. One of Buxley's men had been able to procure a family photo of the Barkridges which also included Hertzfeld, and Harry hadn't recognised the man even after staring at the picture till it was burned into the back of his brain.

 _So why do I feel like I know him?_

He gritted his teeth and leaned back on his heels. Sighing, he ruffled his hair in frustration and placed his hands on his hips. No matter how close he got to the missing piece, the moment he thought he'd laid his hands on it, it would slip out of his grasp.

 _There's just something about him that reminds me of—_

He looked up, a sudden thought occurring to him. Eyes wide and heart racing, he picked up the file and reread all the information he had on Hertzfeld. _I know who he reminds me of._

Shaking his head, a sense of disbelief settling over him, he chuckled drily at the twisted irony of it all. He finally knew why he thought he had known Hertzfeld. It was because of how similar his story was to one Harry had personally experienced. Because Hertzfeld's story was so similar to that of someone he had known a long time ago.

Leaning over his desk, he clicked on the button connected to Buxley's buzzer multiple times, his mind racing at the same speed as his heart. His deputy threw open the door thirty seconds later, wand at the ready as he looked around the room. Finding only Harry standing in the middle of the office with a wide grin on his face, Buxley made a confused gesture and put away his wand.

"What's going on? I thought something happened."

"Something _did_ happen," he said as he picked up the sheet on which he'd circled Hertzfeld's name and held it out to the other man. "I think I may just have cracked this case wide open."

"Bollocks," Buxley muttered as he stared down at the sheet with a confused expression. "What's this? Nothing written on this is anything that we don't know already."

"No, Buxley!" he exclaimed, grabbing the man by his shoulders. "You don't understand. I _finally_ figured out what the missing piece is!"

"Let's hear it, then."

He stepped back, arms held out on either side, and said, "I kept thinking I knew Hertzfeld from somewhere because something about him seemed so familiar. But every time I thought about that family photograph, I came to the same conclusion: I'd never seen the man before in my life."

He began to pace up and down in his excitement, and Buxley's eyes followed after him. "And then it hit me! The reason I thought I knew him was because he reminded me so much of someone _else_ I knew whose story is almost exactly the same as Hertzfeld's! And _that's_ when I realised—what if we've been looking at this case the wrong way this entire time?"

He paused right in front of Buxley and grabbed his shoulders again. "What if Hertzfeld is actually innocent?"

There was a long moment of silence, after which Buxley slowly raised his arms and pulled Harry's hands from his shoulder. "First of all, stop doing that," he said as he let Harry's hands go. "And second of all, you're completely mental."

Harry rolled his eyes as he walked to his desk and sat down on it. "Look, I know it seems mental—"

"It definitely does."

"—but I have a strong feeling about this. Buxley, if anyone knew about the vase and that it was going to be stolen, it would've been Hertzfeld. If anyone knew to question the causes of his employers' deaths, it would've been Hertzfeld. If anyone knew that Lisa was going to come to me for help, it would've been Hertzfeld. And if _anyone_ knew to address a threatening message to me in invisible ink so I wouldn't go poking my nose in things that would put not only my life, but also Lisa's life in danger, it would've been Hertzfeld."

Buxley's frown had gradually grown more pronounced with every sentence Harry spoke, and by the end, his eyebrows were so furrowed together that it looked like they would remain that way permanently. Harry shook his head, amazed at his own speech. He looked at his deputy with a serious expression.

"I want you to take a few of your men and go back to the hotel Lisa had been staying at. I want you to ask around and see if anyone had seen someone who looked like Hertzfeld in the past few days. The moment you find a clue, I want you to follow it, and come back here only when you've found either Hertzfeld or something that would lead us to him."

Buxley looked like he wanted to argue, but Harry didn't give him the chance. He strode over to his deputy. "Buxley, I refuse to let another innocent man be convicted for a crime he did not commit. And say what you will, but I _will_ find him and help prove his innocence whether or not he, or anybody else, wants me to."

The man only swallowed and nodded. "Fine. Besides, after listening to you explain everything so simply, I'm starting to think you might actually be right."

Harry ducked his head. "I'm really hoping that I am."

Buxley nodded and strode to the door, but before he left, he looked over his shoulder and asked, "Who was the fellow who reminded you of Hertzfeld?"

Harry shot him a small smile as he answered. "My late godfather, Sirius Black."

* * *

 **11:11 AM**

"You wanted to see me?"

He smiled and motioned for Lisa to come in as he put away the file containing information on Hertzfeld and the case. "How're you doing?" he asked her once she was seated.

She shrugged and offered him a small smile, but he could see that the recent happenings had taken a toll on her. She was paler than he remembered her to be, and she wasn't even half as excited or energetic as she had been when they'd first met. His men had told him that she hadn't been eating much, and she had refused to sleep in the Ministerial housing facility, insisting that she would rather spend the night on the uncomfortable couch in the Auror Office. He hadn't spoken to her since the previous evening, and except for a few, brief check-ins, he hadn't even seen her till just now.

Leaning forwards, he clasped his hands on the table and eyed her with a serious expression. She shifted in her seat. He cleared his throat and said in as calm a voice as he could muster, "I know Hertzfeld is innocent."

His plan had been to just tell her that, and then gauge her reaction, but from the way she perked up and her eyes brightened, his suspicions were confirmed. He smiled and said, "So I want you to help me find him."

That probably wasn't the right thing to say, because her expression changed and her eyes darkened. "You haven't… found him, yet?"

 _Rookie mistake,_ he scolded himself as he struggled to hold his smile. "No, but my men are looking for him as we speak. It'll be easier if you were to help."

She immediately withdrew and regained her nervous, hesitant demeanour from the previous day. "Why would you think I knew where he was?" she asked, her voice shrill.

 _Because you're a terrible liar,_ he wanted to say, but instead, he answered, "Because I know you know where he is the same way I know he's innocent."

She faltered, and he leaned forwards, subtly pressuring her to react faster. She started to shake her head, but he smiled wider, and she stopped. "I—I don't—"

"Lisa," he said, his voice low. He had already lied once, and it went against his morals to lie to innocent witnesses in order to force them to talk, but he was desperate at this point. "Hertzfeld's life may be in danger, and if you don't help me, you might lose him, too."

It wasn't a complete lie. They had no idea where he was, so they had no idea if he was safe or not. The people who were after Lisa's life might be after Hertzfeld's, too.

She shook her head, her eyes wide and teary. "Please," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Please, I don't know where he is, I swear. I'll tell you everything I know, so please help him. I can't lose Erhard, too!"

He nodded and offered her a kind smile. "I intend to do just that. Now, what can you tell me?"

She opened her mouth several times and closed it, looking like a fish out of water, and as he waited for her, he Summoned two cups and the pot of tea he'd kept ready before calling for her. He poured the tea into the cups and placed one in front of her. She picked it up, looking grateful, and took a long, slow swig. The moment she placed the cup back on its saucer, he saw her relax, and knew that the Calming Draught mixed in with her tea was taking effect.

Sending a mental thank you to Malfoy for the idea, he leaned back in his seat and waited patiently for her to begin. A few moments later she straightened up, a determined expression on her face, and said, "The truth is, I suspect that Erhard has the vase with him."

She continued to watch him, and he made sure to keep his expression neutral. "Ever since the very first moment _Grossvader_ bought that vase," she said, "he was paranoid that something would happen to it. Even at home, it was heavily guarded by innumerous spells and the like. But right after my parents' deaths two years ago, his paranoia became so extreme that it started to have physical effects on his health. He was almost always ill, and without either of my parents or Erhard to look after the family matters, I had to step up and take things into my own hands."

She paused, her lower lip quivering, and then said, "Although I tried my hardest, a naïve fifteen-year-old girl will never be taken seriously by anyone. And so, things got very bad, but suddenly, one day, everything started to fall into place." She shook her head, her eyes wide. "I couldn't understand what had happened, but _Grossvader_ insisted it was a guardian angel, and wouldn't tell me anything else. I became suspicious, and I started to spy on him, and found that my guardian angel was actually Erhard. He had managed to escape the fire that killed my parents, but the right side of his body was covered in burns, and he seemed like he wasn't happy in the least to be alive."

She paused again, and he wanted to tell her to hurry up and skip to the important part, but now that she was talking, he didn't want to interrupt, lest she stop.

"My grandfather told Erhard about the vase and that he suspected that whoever had killed my parents were after it. He said that it was cursed, and that it had brought his family nothing but distress. But instead of selling it, _Grossvader_ insisted on letting it remain in our house, and the stress of it all led to him dying from a heart failure."

Bowing her head, she sniffed. "I know that there has been talk of his death having something to do with my parents' death, and that Erhard is behind everything, but I know that he is innocent." She looked up at him, her eyes clear. "Right after my grandfather's death, an investigation was started to look into the murder of my parents and who was behind it. The permission letter had my signature on it, so it seemed as though I was the one who had authorised it, but I knew it was Erhard, and played along with his farce because I knew he would be in danger if he were found out.

"But one month after the investigation was started, Erhard suddenly sent a second letter, asking the investigation to be called off, and I only assumed that he had found whatever he had been looking for. A day after that, the vase was gone, and in its place was the envelope with the blueprint, except it also contained a letter. Erhard must've realised that I knew that he was innocent, so he wrote to me and told me to come to London and find you. I didn't understand why, but he wrote that both my grandfather and father spoke very highly of you, and that if there was one person who could protect me, it would be you."

She sniffed, offering him a watery smile, and said, "But I suppose he didn't anticipate that the people who were after the vase would somehow find me here, and, seeing that I didn't have the vase, would steal the blueprint." She shook her head. "I'm sorry for lying to you, but would you have believed me if I had told you the truth?"

He bowed his head and said, "No, I suppose not. But I really do respect what you did. Your life was in danger, yet you still chose to protect Hertzfeld's innocence. You are very brave, Lisa."

She laughed, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Erhard said the same thing to me in his letter."

He smiled. "And Erhard was right." He reached across the desk and caught her hand in his, squeezing it as he smiled at her. "So, why don't you and I go find him so we can prove that he's innocent?"

She nodded enthusiastically and wiped the tears from her cheeks. "Thank you so much, sir. Now I know why my father, grandfather _and_ Erhard spoke so highly of you."

He laughed, embarrassed, and just as they rose to their feet, an Auror came bursting in, a panicked expression on his face.

"Sir," he gasped. "Sir, we have a problem."

He shared a glance with Lisa and then instructed her to remain in his office as he followed the Auror out. They turned the corner, and right in the middle of the large room, he came face to face with two groups of people. The group on the right consisted of Buxley and his team, and a man who was undoubtedly Erhard Hertzfeld, except the right side of his face was marred beyond recognition. Buxley and the other Aurors were standing in front of Erhard, as though shielding him from the second group—which consisted of Padma Patil, leading a small battalion of tall, hefty Germans.

Padma turned and nodded to him, and before he stepped forwards, he muttered to the Auror who had come to get him from the corner of his mouth. "Notify Hermione Weasley from the DMLE about the situation. Now."

He nodded once and stepped aside, as though making room for Harry, who strode forwards and stood in front of the group that consisted of his men, and Erhard. "Padma," he said, a sceptical smile on his face and his arms behind his back. "This is a surprise."

"Oh, trust me, you can't be half as surprised as I was when my men stationed near Miss Barkridge's hotel reported back to me that they found _your_ lot snooping around, asking for the whereabouts of a certain international criminal," she replied just as smoothly, half a smile on her face and hands in the pockets of her coat.

"I didn't know you had an on-going investigation in our part of town," he said as he calculated how many of his men would be required to take down all of the Germans behind her, if worst came to worst.

"Did you really think I came to see you all the way from Germany in the matter of an hour or two?" She raised her eyebrows, and he was starting get irritated by the superior smirk on her face.

"No, but I definitely didn't think you would be leading a parallel investigation on _my_ turf without telling me." It was his turn to raise his eyebrows, and her turn to look annoyed.

"I didn't think you'd have a problem, considering you were willing to put _my_ job on the line to close _your_ investigation."

He grit his teeth, and they both continued to stare at each other. The heavy silence that enveloped the Auror Office was intolerable. A moment later, he caught sight of a flash of brown in between two German shoulders, and inhaled deeply, allowing himself to smile. Padma seemed confused by his sudden change in demeanour, but before either of them could so much as bat an eyelid, Hermione's familiar voice filtered through the wall of Germans blocking the entrance.

"Excuse me, but do you mind? You're blocking the way."

Padma and her humongous minions started and shifted in the slightest, allowing Hermione to squeeze in before stepping back into place.

"Good to see you, Padma," Hermione said as she walked past the Germans and came to stand beside Harry. Padma nodded in acknowledgement of Hermione's greeting, but didn't move or say anything else. "Well," Hermione continued, as though the heavy atmosphere in the room didn't bother her in the least. "I've just been instructed to handle this as soon as possible before people start asking questions, so..." She smiled a little, tight, smile, and Harry realised in that instant that she wasn't there for him, but because the higher-ups must have asked her to wrap things up before things got out of control.

"That suits us just fine," Padma said, pulling a hand out of her pocket to flip her long, dark hair over her shoulder. "Give us Hertzfeld, and we shall leave you to do whatever it was you were doing before we rudely interrupted you by barging in here unannounced."

He had a smart comeback for that, but he held his tongue and let Hermione speak. "We refuse."

He glanced sideways at her, surprised, and the Germans behind Padma shifted, as though getting ready to launch themselves at Harry and the rest.

"You seem to be under the misconception," Padma said, "that the man standing behind you is innocent."

"And _you_ seem to be under the misconception that he's guilty," Harry replied just as evenly.

Padma frowned, and the men behind her shifted again. "Auror Potter," she snapped, the coolness of her voice sending a shiver down his spine. "That man is under suspicion of murder, and yet you insist that he's innocent even though he is the main suspect in your case."

"My case has been solved, Detective Patil," he replied, consciously making sure to keep the bite out of his voice. "And I have enough proof to waive the allegations against Mr Hertzfeld. Do _you_ have enough proof to convict him?"

He heard Buxley cough behind him at his white lie, but he was willing to risk it because he was sure he would win.

"He is a German wizard and thus falls under our jurisdiction," Padma said, her voice tight.

"Maybe so, but right now, you're on British ground, and you have no jurisdiction here. Besides, his employer is my client, so I suggest you back off, Detective Patil, before things turn ugly."

Padma's eyes went wide, and he felt the sharp sting from Hermione pinching his leg, but he stood firm. Erhard was innocent, and if proving so was going to cause a rift between the English and German Ministry, then so be it. He didn't defeat a Dark Lord and nearly die multiple times just to step back and turn a blind eye when he could bring justice for someone. Besides, the damage had already been done. He could feel Hermione's anger burning hot against his side, and knew he was in big trouble for being so brash, but this wasn't the first time he'd overdone it for the sake of a good cause.

Padma was about to say something, but was interrupted by a familiar voice belonging to the one person he'd hoped wouldn't appear. _Damn it, Lisa,_ he thought as the girl made her way through the crowd and stood beside Hermione.

"If I may, I would like to make a preposition."

Everyone stared at her like she was off her rocker, and he could've sworn Padma had scoffed if she didn't have such a serious look on her face when she said, "And what might that be?"

"I propose that you allow Erhard to return to Germany a free man, in exchange for which he will give you all the information you need to not only catch my parents' murderers, but also the underground gang of black marketers and dealers that you have been hunting for years, now."

Padma stared at her, the disbelief clear on her face, and even Harry himself was eyeing her with amazement. Was this the same girl who had broken down in front of him less than twenty minutes ago?

"And why should I believe that you have information that even the German special force hasn't been able to get their hands on?" Padma demanded.

"What reason would I have to support him if he really was the man who killed my parents?" Lisa replied, her voice calm.

Padma's jaw was set, and he could all but see the vein popping in her forehead. After a long moment of deliberation, she bit out a, "Fine. But only if you allow us to conduct a thorough investigation—"

"You have my word," Lisa cut in, and Padma seemed to deflate.

She turned to Harry. "Will you give him to me, now?"

He motioned with his arm, and his men parted so that Erhard could make his way to his German escorts. As he passed Harry, he bowed his head in thanks, and Harry smiled back at him.

"And the vase?" Padma asked, eyeing Erhard's empty hands.

"The vase," Harry said, stepping forwards. "Will remain here."

Several pairs of surprised eyes turned to stare at him, and Padma inhaled deeply before saying, "I'm sorry?"

"I have documents here to show that Auror Potter is the actual owner of the vase," Hermione piped up, showing them a file she was holding. "It was originally stolen from Grimmauld Place, which is now under the proprietorship of Auror Potter, thus making him its owner."

Padma looked like she was about to explode, but Lisa simply nodded and said, "I shall sign all the necessary forms relinquishing any ties the Barkridge family has with that vile vase if you promise that I will never ever have to see it or hear about it ever again."

Harry smiled. "I promise."

She nodded regally before coming up to him and holding out her hand. He took it, but instead of shaking it, he pulled her into a hug. She stepped back and looked up at him with watery eyes and a grateful smile. "Thank you so much for everything you've done for us, sir."

"Call me Harry, Lisa. And it was my pleasure."

Her smile widened, and she turned to Buxley, holding her hand out to him. "I cannot thank you and apologise to you enough, Mister Buxley."

Buxley took her hand and shook it once, a lopsided grin on his face. "I'll forgive you if you promise to never set foot in this office again."

She laughed, and with a wave, made her way towards Padma. While the German wall moved and secured Erhard and Lisa, Harry strode up to Padma and pulled her aside. She looked up at him, lips pressed into a thin line, and he quickly whispered, "Look, I'm sorry that things turned out the way they did, but next time, maybe you can talk to me before barging in here unannounced and demand that I do as you say." Her lip twitched, but he continued quickly; "And maybe rely on me for help, next time, like I did with you, instead of trying to do everything on your own."

Her eyes softened in the slightest, and she offered him a small smile. "You're right. I'd forgotten what it was like to have a friend I could rely on. Thanks for letting me off easy, by the way," she added with a wince. "I reckon neither of our superiors are going to be too pleased with us."

He simply grinned at that and said, "I reckon so. How about we call it even and forget all this ever happened?"

She laughed and held out her hand. "It was a real pleasure seeing you again, Harry, even considering the circumstances." She jerked her head towards her patiently waiting retinue, and he chuckled.

"I would like it even more if we could share a drink or two over dinner some time and swap stories."

She smiled, and it finally reached her dark eyes and made them twinkle, and he felt himself relax. He was more relieved than anything that he hadn't lost a friend in the process of trying to get an innocent man justice.

Padma nodded to Hermione, and they left. He then turned to the rest of his men, and said, "For those of you who are glad that this is over, get back to your desks, because there's a mountain load of work waiting for you if you want to go home tonight."

There were collective groans as everyone trudged back to their respective cubicles, and Harry turned to Hermione. "How much trouble am I in?"

She slapped his arm. "I swear, Harry, couldn't you have shown _some_ delicacy? What if the person you were against hadn't been an old friend of yours and this turned into an international conflict? You're the Head Auror, for Godric's sake, so behave like one!"

He winced, feeling chastised. "You're right. I'm sorry. I should've handled it with more tact. I guess I was just annoyed that they simply waltzed in here without permission and behaved as though they were entitled to make demands."

She huffed and said, "Well, it's a good thing that the German Ministry will be sending a lengthy apology letters of sorts to compensate for all the trouble they've caused, I'm sure, plus my detailed report of everything that just happened, and I think the higher-ups might just get off your back once and for all."

He ran his hands through his hair as the exhaustion finally settled over him. "That is literally the best news I have heard all week. Now all I need is a nice bath and my warm bed, and I couldn't ask for anything else."

"Let's not forget about the mountain load of work before that," Buxley chipped in from the side, hefting his pants up, and Harry hung his head as he made his way to his office, praying that the rest of the day would go by in the blink of an eye.

* * *

 **2:36 PM**

"And this is the last of it?"

The Auror nodded as he collected the report Harry had just signed and filed it with the rest. "Yes, sir."

"Alright, then. Send Buxley in here on your way out."

The Auror nodded again and left the office, leaving him to sit back and stretch. It had been a long, long day, and he wanted nothing more than to go home and collapse on his bed.

He sorted through the papers on his desk as he waited for his deputy, recollecting Buxley's report on how Erhard had turned himself over to them, vase and all, under the condition that they take him to see Lisa immediately. No one had noticed that Padma's men had been following them, and it was only when they had barged into the Auror Office right after Buxley and his team's arrival, that they had found out. He briefly wondered if it was time to send his men for another round of training sessions when the door opened and Buxley trudged in.

"I know what you're going to say," he said before Harry could even speak, "and I refuse."

Harry blinked. "What?"

Buxley frowned. "Didn't you call me in here to tell me to take a break and lay off the vandals case for a while?"

"Well," Harry said, "that had been my original intention, but seeing how you vetoed it just now…"

His deputy shrugged, looking exhausted. "I just want to get it over with once and for all so I can cash in all my sick leaves and take a nice, long vacation."

Harry nodded. "Fair enough. Then, how about you tell Rogers that he has been promoted to be your personal assistant from this moment on?"

Buxley grimaced at that, making Harry grin. "Yeah, sure. I'll bet he'll be thrilled."

"My intentions were more selfish. The last thing I need is for your wife to send me another Howler about how I'm overworking you."

Buxley grumbled under his breath and excused himself, leaving Harry to lock up after him. He strode out of his office, clapping his men on the back and congratulating them on a job well done as he passed them by. Once he was out of the Ministry, it didn't take him very long to get home, have a nice, long bath, and take a power nap before he Floo-d down to the Burrow.

The moment he stepped out, Albus barrelled into him and climbed up to perch on his shoulders, yelling, "First!" as James, who was a minute too late, began tugging at his brother's leg to pull him off.

"Boys, not now," he said as he picked Albus up and put him down, much to his dismay and his brother's delight. Although he was glad to see his sons, he really didn't have the energy to deal with their enthusiasm. "Where's your sister?" he asked them, but just then Ron climbed down the stairs with Lily in his arms.

"Look, Lils, Daddy's here!"

His little redhead held her arms out to him, and he took her from Ron, cradling her against his chest. She nestled her head in the crook of his neck, and he was startled by how hot her forehead was.

"Is she sick?" he asked, pulling her head back to press his palm against her forehead.

Ron sighed as he flopped down on the sofa. "Yeah. She, Rosie and the boys were out for too long last evening, and she's down with a fever. I didn't expect her to fall ill just from playing outside."

"It's November, Ron!" he said as he settled down in an armchair and draped the comforter over her. "Anyway, where're your parents?"

"Some close friend of Dad's died last evening, so they decided to spend yesterday and today with the grieving family or something," he said vaguely, rubbing his eyes.

"You look exhausted," Harry commented.

"So do you," Ron replied, throwing him a tired smile.

"Yeah, but I've been working over time trying to find an internationally wanted man. What's your excuse?"

Rose and Hugo ran in just then, screaming at the top of their lungs, and Albus and James joined in a moment later, and the four kids jumped around the living room, trying to out-shout the other. Lily stirred in his arms with a little moan, and he instantly pulled his wand out and cast a Silencing Charm on the four. They paused in their bouncing around to stare at him wide-eyed. He simply pressed a finger to his lips and motioned to his daughter, and James, deciding to be the responsible older brother, gestured for them to follow him as he led them up the stairs. Harry undid the Silencing Charm before they disappeared out of sight, and turned to his best mate with a look of pity.

"Yeah," Ron scoffed as he stood up and made his way to the kitchen. "At least now it's just the four of them. Yesterday it was all five, and then Lily fell sick, so every time they screamed, she'd start crying. I tried contacting both you and Hermione, but both your phones were out of reach, so I assumed things were hectic and decided to do whatever I could."

"She's so quiet now, though," he said as he hugged his daughter close and pressed a kiss to her hair. She mumbled quietly and snuggled against him, making him smile.

"Yeah, I've been giving her some potion Mum told me to mix in her milk, so she's calmed down a lot since last night. Her fever's gone down, too. She should be better in another day or two."

"Look at you, being all dad-like." Harry grinned as he took the mug of hot tea Ron held out to him.

"Excuse me for being like a dad," Ron said with the roll of his eyes, and they settled back in their seats, sipping their tea in silence as they listened to their kids' joyous shrieks coming from upstairs.

"Haven't seen Rosie that hyper in a long time," he said after a while, and Ron snorted.

"Thank Merlin both my kids take after their mother in that regard. I don't know how you handle your triple menaces."

"They're not all that bad. Besides, Ginny looks after them more than I do."

"Oh, yeah, before I forget," Ron said as he rummaged inside his pant pocket. "Here."

He took the card and eyed it. "What's this?"

"Mum told me you were looking for a pre-school, and I remembered that Audrey recently started working in one that isn't all that far off."

"Audrey as in Percy's wife, Audrey?"

"Yeah, which other Audrey d'you know?"

Harry shot Ron a look as he eyed the fancy-looking lettering on the card. "Silver Sprigs? Isn't that the school for the rich and famous or something?"

Ron shrugged. "You don't have to enrol your kids there, just talk to Audrey. I'm sure she can help."

He nodded as he pocketed the card and put it on his to-do list for his day off tomorrow. Right now, he just wanted to zone out on the warm sofa, content with the company of his best mate and his sleeping daughter.

* * *

 **A/n: Phew, glad that's finally over and done with. As you might have guessed, this means it's the beginning of two new arcs, so strap on your seat belts!**

 **I have three more chapters written after this, so updates should be regular till I run out of chapters- unless I write more, of course.**

 **I'm gonna miss Lisa. I rather liked her. Oh wells.**

 **Let me know what you thought, as usual, because you know how much I love reading your reviews!**

 **Thanks for reading.**

 **Lots of love~**

 **Arty xx**


	18. 18 Lies: New Decisions

**A/n: Here's to reaching a hundred reviews (and 80 follows) and acing my finals (although I still have a week left)!**

 **Just a little disclaimer: Audrey's characterisation, including her profession and stuff, here is the same as from my mini series, An Ordinary Love Story, so in case you find her characterisation different than what you expected... *directs you to the other story* just acclimatise yourself and come on back!**

 **Now, on to the actual chapter.**

* * *

 **Chapter 18**

 **New Decisions**

* * *

 **[14 November 2011]**

 **12:03 PM**

"Harry!"

He looked up to see Audrey make a beeline towards the table he was sitting at, and he rose to his feet just as she reached him.

"It's so good to see you!" she exclaimed, surprising him with a warm hug before she sat down on the chair across from him. She took off her coat and muffler, laying them across her lap, and looked up at him with a smile. Although Audrey and him weren't all that close, since he had never really been close with Percy, she still greeted him like an old friend every time they met, and it made him feel much more comfortable than if she were awkward with him. "So, how've you been?"

"I've been great. Finally managed to get a day off today since I've been working all weekend. How about you?"

"Oh, we're doing wonderfully! Fleur's been making a round trip to all the siblings' houses now that they're back from France, and Dominque's been dragging us all down to Diagon every second day to get some shopping done for when she starts school next year." She rolled her eyes. "It's been driving Fleur mad—though I find Nicki's excitement rather endearing. Molly and Louis have started to make a list, too, believe it or not. And they've been hounding us to buy them supplies even though we keep telling them they've still got over two years to go before they start at Hogwarts. But really, look at me, babbling on and on."

She seemed embarrassed, and he chuckled. "Not at all. I don't really have half as much to talk about, anyway. Oh, and I heard you work somewhere else, now?"

She nodded, waiting as the waitress placed a cup of tea in front of her. "Yeah. Most of their staff suddenly quit due to various reasons, and although they offered me quite a lump sum pay, I _had_ been meaning to quit working at my old pre-school since it was rather far off, and very hectic. This one's much more convenient, and there aren't all that many children, so it's easier. But, never mind all that, tell me more about you. How're the kids doing?" She leaned forwards, her warm, kind brown eyes shining.

His smile widened, glad that she was still the same, bubbly, talkative person he knew her to be, as he replied. "Al is fine, but Lily and Jamie are down with colds. They were prancing around this morning before I left, though, so hopefully they should be better soon."

She nodded. "What about Ginny? Is she still writing?"

"Oh, you haven't heard? Ginny's covering the tournament. She's expected to be back this weekend, but you can never tell with these games."

"That's wonderful! But you're right—these fans can't get enough."

They sat in silence as the waitress returned to serve them their food, and once she was gone, he said, "So, I suppose you know that we pulled the kids out of their previous pre-school?"

"Oh, yes." Audrey scrunched up her nose, looking appalled. "And I'm glad you did. It turned out that they had a lot of unscrupulous stuff going on, and the Ministry's threatening to shut them down."

He sat back, stunned. "What, really? We had no idea…"

She shrugged, sipping her tea. "It's all rather hush-hush, but since I used to be Division Head of the Education Department, I still get updated on the latest news and whatnot."

"Right… well, it's already been a couple weeks since we pulled them out, and Ginny and I've been really busy of late, so we haven't gotten around to looking for schools, yet. So I wondered if you had any suggestions or recommendations."

"I can actually give you a list off the top of my head, but, if you prefer, maybe you and I could sit down and look them over so we can discuss pros and cons and the like. What do you say?"

"That would be brilliant," he said with the slight shake of his head. "That would save me a lot of time and effort, thank you so much."

"Oh, there's no need to be formal," she said with the wave of her hand. "We're family, after all. So, when would you want to meet? There's no hurry, of course, we can wait till Ginny gets back. I just want to know so I can get started on the list."

"Whenever you're free. Like you said, there's no hurry. Just let us—me, know, and we can talk it through."

"Sounds fantastic." She smiled. "So, tell me more about what you lot've been up to. Percy and I are rather out of the loop, I must say, what with him nearly living in the Ministry and me having to handle a horde of kids, although I try to keep in touch as regularly as possible..."

He sat back, scone in hand, as he listened to her chatter on. He was with her well past noon, enjoying her company and his much-awaited day off.

Although it had started on a drearier note, with Lily waking up crying from a fever, and Hugo and James also coming down with a cold, it took a turn for the better when Molly and Arthur had returned. The Weasley matriarch gathered up the kids in a matter of minutes and administered some household medicines to remedy their colds, and not half an hour later, the boys were frolicking around out in the sun, and the girls were going about playing house. Ron left to go check up on Hermione and the shop soon after, leaving Harry to sit outside with his in-laws, making small talk while basking in the warm rays of the morning sun.

Once they were done with breakfast, and the children were off in the orchards, doing whatever it was they did there every day, he sat down and wrote two letters. One was to Antares, addressed to Malfoy, apologising for the delay, and asking if he was free that afternoon to continue their discussion from the previous week. The second one was to Audrey, asking if she was free to meet some time that day to discuss the ordeal with the pre-schools.

Audrey had been the first to reply; her letter had arrived a little after eleven o' clock, saying she would be busy that afternoon, but was free around lunchtime. Malfoy's letter had arrived just as he was leaving to meet Audrey, and it just said that he would be in his office between two and four o' clock, and would leave the Floo to his office fireplace open. So, Harry had decided to meet with Audrey first, then head over to Antares. He wanted to finish up the rather prolonged deal with who his Mind Healer would be, so he could start off with his treatment—or whatever it was called—and get it over with before people started asking questions.

He hadn't really planned on it, but he was glad that his day-off was turning out to be more productive than he had expected. Like Buxley had said, he wanted to get stuff over with as and when he could, and not push them off for later, because, knowing his profession, tomorrow would never come. He either got things done every free moment he had, or they would just pile up one on top of the other till they cascaded down on him and crushed him under their weight (something he had come to learn from experience).

"Well, I suppose it's time I made a move," Audrey said finally, and they rose from their seats, making their way to the front of the little café. "It was wonderful seeing you, Harry. We really must keep in touch more often."

"Of course. And if Ginny and I decide to put the kids in the pre-school you work at, you might have to deal with more of me than you want to."

She laughed at that. "Nonsense. I always enjoy chatting with you. And about the school, don't just take my word for it. You should come and check it out, some time, whenever you're free, before you make up your mind."

"Definitely. Thanks again, Audrey."

"You're very welcome," she said with a smile as she pulled him into a hug and pecked him on the cheek. "Maybe I'll drop the girls off at the Burrow later this week so they can spend some time with their cousins."

"Rosie and Lily'll be thrilled. They've been complaining about how there're too many boys and not enough girls."

They laughed, and Audrey waved goodbye as she made her way down the street. She then ducked into the nearest alleyway, and he knew she had Disapparated. He stood there a moment longer before making his way back home. He'd decided to Floo to Antares that day, for a change, since Malfoy had gone out of his way to leave the fireplace in his office open for Harry.

* * *

 **2:53 PM**

Just before he Floo-d to Antares, he made a quick call to Ginny just to placate his guilty conscience. He was dying to talk to her about his nightmares, but he kept putting it off with one excuse after the other, being the coward that he was.

"Good afternoon, my love," her cheery voice said in his ear, and he couldn't help but smile.

"Hey, Gin. How's it going?"

"Oh, you know the drill. How're the kids doing? Ron called me earlier today to tell me Lily and Jamie are sick."

"Lily's had a bit of a fever for the past two days, but she's up and about, now. Jamie and Hugo caught her cold, so they're walking around with stuffy noses, dribbling snot all over the place, but otherwise they're fine."

"Gross, Harry," Ginny said, and he pictured her scrunching up her nose, making him chuckle. "I'm sorry I couldn't come home over the weekend," she continued. "Things've been pretty hectic here."

"Don't worry about it," he replied as he dipped his fingers in the bowl of Floo powder on the mantle. "I was working all weekend, anyway. And the kids are preoccupied with all their cousins' visits, so they're having the time of their lives."

She laughed, but it sounded somewhat forced, and he swallowed. "So, will you be coming back this weekend or will it take longer?"

"Oh…" she trailed off, and he straightened up with a frown.

"Ginny?"

"What? Right, sorry, the girls were saying something so I lost track of the conversation."

Somehow her excuse sounded half-hearted, but he waved it off. There was no point in overthinking the smallest of things just because he was feeling guilty. She continued, not having noticed his silence. "I'm not entirely sure about when I'll be back, actually."

"Why not?" he asked, fisting the shimmering powder. It was rough against his skin, but cool to the touch, giving him a sort of distorted sense of comfort.

"Well, you know how these things go…"

 _She keeps saying that,_ his mind told him, but he ignored it. "Right, yeah, but when do you _think_ you'll be back?"

"Dunno. Sometime early next week, maybe? Angie said—"

"You're not going on _another_ trip with Angelina, are you?"

He hadn't meant to ask that out loud, and he hadn't meant to come off sounding like he was accusing her of something, but he had, and there was a pregnant pause from the other end of the phone.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she finally asked, her voice measured, and he bit back a sigh.

"No, it's nothing, sorry 'bout that. I've just had a really stressful weekend at work, and it looks I'm still a little hung up over it."

"Oh."

She didn't sound convinced, but she didn't push it, and there was another awkward pause before he said, "Anyway, I've got to go. I'll talk to you later."

"Alright. Bye, Harry."

"Bye."

He held the phone against his ear, knowing she was still on the other end. She finally sighed, and disconnected the call. He stared at the screen for a long moment before pocketing the phone. He hated it when things were like this.

Whenever Ginny had been away in the past, it always followed the same pattern: their conversations would start off with her sounding excited, then they would talk about the most recent happenings on their respective ends, then it would dwindle down to a bunch of awkward pauses while each shuffled around, doing different things, and they would either continue the conversation half-heartedly, or one of them would say they had to go.

Or, otherwise, one of them would snap at something the other said, leading to two outcomes: either they would argue about it for a good couple of minutes before breaking out in awkward laughter and continuing the conversation, or, like what had just happened, the other wouldn't take the bait, and the conversation would end, just like that.

He preferred the former of the two, because arguing with his wife over the phone when she was half a country away from him made him feel much better. Like they were still just as close as if she had been standing in front of him.

But, most of all, he hated the prolonged periods when Ginny would completely forget that him and the rest of her family existed outside of her little world. In a way it was a good thing that she could focus on her work so completely without any distractions, but it made him wonder…

He shook his head, breaking off that train of thought before it took a turn for the worst. _You're still hungover from the whole Lisa and Erhard thing,_ he told himself as he threw down the Floo powder and stepped into the fireplace.

Once he felt solid ground beneath hid feet, he coughed for a moment, out of habit, and stepped out, looking around to find the familiar face.

"Mr Potter." Malfoy rose from his seat behind his desk and motioned towards the sofas in front of it, where they had sat the first time Harry had entered the office. "I'm glad you could take some time off so soon. I wasn't expecting to hear from you until much later in the week. Tea?" he asked, as a tray floated over to where they were seated.

"Thank you," Harry replied, feeling the need to turn back and return home the way he had come, as he sat down in the same armchair as last time and making himself comfortable. "Well, to be honest, this case was something that needed to be dealt with immediately, so I spent the weekend at the Ministry, working."

Malfoy nodded and Levitated a cup of tea towards Harry. "Right, then. Before we begin with anything, I have to say this: it is completely up to you whether or not you choose for me to be your Mind Healer, considering the history we share, and I will neither recommend nor reject your choice, but simply accept whatever decision you make."

Harry nodded, feeling the first signs of nervousness set in as he consciously quelled the urge to bounce his knee. "I know that. Like I said, I would like to give this—" he motioned between the two of them, "—a try, first. I think it might be mutually beneficial."

Malfoy's expression instantly changed, and he seemed to expand, his eyes growing stormy. "Forgive me if I'm wrong, but did you perchance agree to this with the thought that me being your Healer could be beneficial to the both of us?"

Harry blinked. He thought about that for a moment as he sipped his tea, eyeing the way Malfoy was clutching the edges of his armrest so tight that his knuckles were white. _Well, this might be the wrong thing to say, but—_

"Not entirely. I can't say I really remember my intentions when Camilla proposed the idea, but now that I think about it, that might have been it."

Malfoy exhaled, long and slow, making him look deflated, and then said in a measure voice, "Mr Potter, while I appreciate your concern for me, we're here to help _you,_ not the other way around."

Harry placed his cup down and held his hands up. "I know, and I apologise if I came off as conceited or contemptuous, but I really just thought it would help…" he trailed off, motioning between them again.

"Help what?" Malfoy asked in the same tone of voice.

"I dunno, help us become friends, or something," he blurted out, realising how outrageous his words were the moment they left his mouth, and he wished he could take them back. He eyed Malfoy nervously, gauging the blond's reaction.

The other wizard's expression shifted to a more mellow one, and he even brought out that mild smile of his that had stunned Harry the first time around. "Well, that… is an interesting thought, no doubt," Malfoy said, and Harry could've sworn he could hear the laughter in the man's voice if it weren't for his calm expression. "But why don't we focus on _you_ first, and _then,_ maybe, we can let things run their course and see how it all turns out."

Harry bowed his head and picked up his cup. "Fair enough."

Malfoy nodded. "Now that you've decided that you still want to keep this under the table, for the time being—"

"Well, not per se—"

"—why don't we get on with it?" Malfoy finished, skilfully ignoring Harry's interruption as though he hadn't even spoken. Harry glanced around, looking for Malfoy's roll of parchment and Self-Inking Quill, and as though reading his mind, the blond said, "My way of doing things is a little different from the others. Everything that transpires in this room will remain between us only. I don't take notes or record our conversations or the tasks that I give you—"

"Taks?" Harry interrupted before he could stop himself.

The corner of Malfoy's mouth twitched in the semblance of a smirk before returning to the calm smile, and he said, "Yes. At the end of every session I will be giving you a handful of tasks that you will have to complete before our next session. These tasks will be based solely on whatever I've learnt from our meetings, and while they _are_ standardised in a way, they're also specific to your needs. So, once you've completed the tasks, we'll discuss and analyse them, after which I will decide on which course our sessions will proceed."

"I've noticed this since I met Camilla, but you guys don't really hold back on giving out information, do you?"

Malfoy's smile widened. "That is because we find no reason to withhold the answers our clients seek. It's for that very reason that we have you signing so many forms each step of the way. Once you sign the initial two, you are bound by, what you could even imagine to be, a form of the Unbreakable Vow."

"So basically I'm sworn to secrecy."

"Both you and I, are. Except yours is by choice, while mine is something my profession entails."

Harry hummed in thought. "So I can expect full honesty from you during the course of our sessions?"

Malfoy's eyes seemed to glitter, as though he knew exactly what was going on in Harry's head. _He might just,_ his brain supplied helpfully.

"I will answer any question you have," Malfoy promised, bowing his head in the slightest.

 _But the answers need not be completely relevant to the questions asked,_ Harry finished for him, and suppressed his sigh with a smile. Their professions seemed to overlap in the strangest of ways, and just as it seemed like Malfoy could read his thoughts, it seemed that he could read Malfoy's thoughts, too.

 _Never gonna tell_ him _that, though._

"OK. First question, then. Since this isn't really official, what guarantee do either of us have that the other will keep this confidential?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Because you wouldn't be here if you wanted people to know, and I have enough pride as a Mind Healer to know when to keep my mouth shut."

Harry nodded. "That's all the reassurance I need, thanks."

Malfoy said, "Now, if you don't have any further questions, shall we begin?"

"Actually, I have just one more."

His own mind was already annoyed by his persistence, so he assumed Malfoy was, too, but the wizard only nodded, a patient smile on his face, and somehow, Harry felt as though he'd been bested, this time around. _Not that we're competing,_ he scolded himself.

"When will we make this official? I mean, I want this to work, but if it doesn't, will I have to go through the process of choosing another Healer?"

Malfoy's expression sobered down. "That is a legitimate concern—one that I'm hoping will end in the same way you want it to: with me being your Healer. But we can set that aside for later. For now, why don't we talk about you?"

Harry nodded, his forgotten nervousness coming back with full force. "Well, where do you want me to start?"

Malfoy smiled and sat back. "Anywhere you would like to."

"That… makes things difficult for me."

Malfoy nodded. "Alright, well, what's on your mind right now?"

"Mm," Harry said, as thoughts of his conversation with Ginny came to the forefront of his mind. _Malfoy or not, I am not about to divulge my petty concerns about my marital life in our first, proper session._ "Truth be told, I was pondering over which pre-school to send my kids to."

"Your children haven't been enrolled, yet?"

"No, they were, but we had to pull them out for various reasons." Harry shrugged a shoulder. "So their grandparents look after them for now, while my wife and I go to work, but they can't babysit them forever."

Malfoy nodded, but remained silent. Unsure of what to say, Harry said, "You have a son, right?"

The blond's expression turned to an amused one as he motioned to the picture-frame on his desk. "Yes, I do, as you're well aware."

Harry nodded, embarrassed, and cleared his throat. "Where does he go?"

"Which pre-school, you mean? He goes to Silver Sprigs. Have you heard of it?"

Heart beginning to race, he immediately crossed off Silver Sprigs from the list in his head, before calming down and deciding that it was ridiculous to reject a pre-school simply because Malfoy's son went there. _He seemed like a perfectly normal boy,_ his mind said even as his thoughts returned to the first time he'd laid his eyes on Mini Malfoy and the tantrum he was throwing.

"Yes, I have," he finally managed when Malfoy gave him a curious look. "It's that super elite pre-school, isn't it?"

Malfoy chuckled. "Do you want to know the actual reason I put Scorpius there?"

 _His son's name is Scorpius. Gotta remember that._ "Why?"

"Because everyone that goes there is the son or granddaughter or the like of some noble from some corner of Britain, and while the fees are exorbitant, they treat all the children like they're kings and queens."

Harry processed what Malfoy had just said before replying. "Meaning they don't discriminate based on who the kids' parents are?"

Malfoy's smile widened, and Harry saw Silver Sprigs go up to first place in his mental list. "That sounds perfect. Especially considering discrimination was the main reason I had to pull my kids out from their previous pre-school," he admitted. "Although, exorbitant fees makes me rethink my decision..."

"It's a great school, if you ask me. You'll have to go and look at it for yourself to be convinced, though. And I'm sure they'll come up with a concession for you, seeing as how you're the One-Who-Slayed-The-Dark-Lord."

Harry snorted. "Is that what they're calling me, now?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Everyone calls you all sorts of things all the time. It doesn't matter, though, does it? Won't change the fact that you're just Harry Potter, the boy who got caught up in things a million times bigger than him."

 _Just like you,_ he thought, and found himself relaxing. He couldn't remember the last time someone he wasn't close to had treated him like just another person. _Maybe this was a good idea after all._ "Yeah, plus that concession they have if your kid has a sibling. I have three, so…"

Malfoy nodded again, opting to remain silent and allowing Harry to talk. Was this how all of their sessions were going to be like? With him just saying whatever he pleased, and Malfoy just patiently listening except for when here was a need for him to respond?

He cleared his throat, feeling awkward, but before either of them could say anything, Harry's phone went off. He excused himself and moved to a corner of the room as he answered the phone, glad he had decided to take Ron's advice and cast Anti-Magical barriers on it.

"Buxley? What's going on?"

"Nothing urgent, don't worry," his deputy said. "Sorry, did I catch you at a bad time?"

Harry glanced towards where Malfoy was sipping his tea and said, "No, no, I was just… taking a nap. What's going on?"

"Sorry for waking you up, then. It's just—we got back from rounding up another group of vandals just now, and one of the lads asked me about that vase. It's still sitting pretty on top of the boxes of lost items, so I was wondering what to do 'bout it, and thought I'd call and ask. Just in case you already had something planned for it."

He frowned. He'd forgotten all about the vase, as a matter of fact, but he wasn't about to tell his deputy that. "Leave it be, for now. I'll make a decision once I get back tomorrow."

"Sounds good, boss. Sleep tight."

"Thanks, Buxley."

He disconnected the call and pocketed his burning phone, rubbing his hot palm, and promised himself that he would use the new models Ron hadn't returned like Hermione'd asked him to. He'd ended up experimenting on them instead, and George and him had come up with a way of making them function in the same way the cross-tech phone worked, except they weren't as durable, yet.

"Sorry, that was my deputy," he said as he returned to take his seat across from Malfoy.

"All OK?" the blond asked, looking concerned.

Harry waved his hand. "Oh, yeah, yeah, nothing serious. Just some vase that got left behind from my previous case. He wanted to know I want to do with it."

"Vase?" Malfoy asked, a curious expression on his face, and Harry grabbed the opportunity to talk about something that wasn't related to him.

"Yeah. It was actually stolen—and this is confidential. I'm only telling you because you said nothing would leave this room." Once Malfoy nodded, he continued, "Well, it was stolen from Grimmauld Place, which was once the home of the late Walburga and Orion Black."

Malfoy sat back, looking stunned, and Harry felt like he had won this round. _It is_ not _a competition,_ his mind scolded, but he ignored it in favour of continuing his story. "Yeah, so, it's a memento from the Second Wizarding War. Pretty amazing, right?"

Malfoy nodded, the surprised expression still on his face, and Harry wondered when he had forgotten all about what a nasty git the man had been to him so many years before, and had so simply accepted the man he was, now. It had happened without him even noticing, and Harry felt like Malfoy had won a big one over him in that regard ( _Not a competition!)._

"If you don't mind me asking—what _do_ you plan on doing with it?" the blond asked, drawing Harry out of his mental argument with his conscience.

He shrugged as he picked up his teacup, finished his tea, and replaced the cup on its saucer. "I'll probably just toss it back in the house, where it belongs, with all the other useless stuff collected over the years," he lied easily.

He was going to lose sleep thinking about what to do with the vase, he had no doubt. His initial plan was to put it back, but he didn't want it to get stolen again. The German Ministry had refused to divulge any information as to why the perpetrators had been after the vase or why they had murdered people for it. No matter how much they apologised for the trouble caused, they were very tight-lipped over the matter, and the DMLE had given up rather easily, saying it wasn't their problem anymore. They just wanted Harry to get the vase out of the Ministry so they could tie the whole thing up in a nice, big bow.

He looked up to see the confusion on Malfoy's face. "What?"

The blond shook his head. "No, I was just wondering—and you don't have to answer if you don't want to—but why do _you_ get to keep it?"

"Oh. Oh, that's because I'm the current owner of Grimmauld Place, and since the vase was stolen from there, it now belongs to me. Not that I want it, of course," he added, feeling like he had to defend himself for some reason.

Malfoy seemed rather distressed about the whole issue with the vase to care whether or not Harry wanted it. "How did _you_ end up being the owner?" he asked, and Harry wondered if he should tell him that he was forgetting to do his job. _Why is this so important to him?_

"Well, Sirius Black, who was Walburga and Orion's son, was my godfather. He relinquished the house to me years ago, when he got out of Azkaban. Not that I wanted it," he added, again, "but Sirius insisted, and I couldn't say no."

Malfoy sat back with a brooding expression on his face. "Huh."

"What?"

"No, it's just… it surprised me that you were the proprietor of that dingy, old hovel."

Harry was about to respond when Malfoy's words registered in his mind. "You've been to Grimmauld Place before?" he asked with a frown.

The blond waved a hand. "No, but my mother had shown me pictures, years ago."

Before Harry could connect two and two together, Malfoy said, "My mother was originally a Black before she married my father and took on his family name. She and Sirius were second cousins."

Harry sat forwards, his mouth hanging open. "So that makes you his… second cousin once removed!"

Malfoy winced, as though the proclamation had hurt him. What about it had hurt, Harry wasn't sure. Was it that being related to Sirius disgusted the blond? Or was it that this conversation brought up unpleasant memories? Or was it the fact that Harry owned the house that should've ended up belonging to the Malfoys?

Whatever it was, the previous feeling of wanting to run away was steadily rising back to the surface, and the more he tried to quell the thought that this whole thing was a bad idea from his mind, the more it overpowered his reasoning. But... if he ran away now, that would defeat the whole purpose. He had come this far, and he wasn't about to back out because he had just found out that he and Malfoy shared more of a history than either of them had known. _Then again, if his mother was a Black, then that means we're related some way or the other, right? At least, that's what Hermione'd said_ — _that every notable noble family was connected through the Blacks._ He was wondering what Ron's reaction would be when he found out he was a far relative of Malfoy, when the blond spoke up.

"Potter."

Malfoy addressing him by just his surname snapped him back to his senses, and he inhaled deeply, trying to calm himself. Silver eyes shimmered with a knowing expression, and Malfoy said, "This is why I said—look, we can still find you another Healer. I'll even see if I can schedule short meetings with a handful of them—"

"No."

"What?"

"No." Harry shook his head. "No, I'm not going to go to another Healer."

Malfoy's jaw was set, and he looked like he wanted to argue, but Harry was adamant. The conversation about the vase had allowed him to realise several things, one of which was that he had, in fact, decided for Malfoy to be his Healer so that they both could benefit from it, but also because he didn't want their relationship, or lack thereof, to remain as it was: stagnant and unmoving. He had contacted Antares with one purpose: to find respite from the madness growing within him and swallowing him whole, and he had come to the realisation that fixing something that should have been fixed a long, long time ago might just be the first step to that.

"I don't want another Healer," he repeated with more conviction, and something within Malfoy's stormy eyes seemed to change, as though he understood where Harry was coming from.

"Then what do you suggest we do?"

"I suggest…" Harry took a deep breath and cleared his throat. He continued quickly before he could think otherwise. "I suggest that we make this official. I think… I think this is something I need to do in order to help me get over my nightmares and my trauma." Unsure if his decision was the right one, he turned to Malfoy. "What do you say?"

Malfoy watched him for a long moment, grey eyes intense. Harry couldn't really tell what he was thinking from his lack of expression, but before he could dwell on it, the blond smile. "If that's how you feel, then I have no reason to object."

Harry nodded, ignoring the fact that Malfoy had avoided his question, and shifted in his seat as the blond Summoned a piece of parchment and a quill. They came to a stop before Harry, and he looked up into impassioned eyes and an anticipating smile as Malfoy said, "You know what to do."

He stared at the parchment for a long moment, heart hammering away in his chest, and he thought back to all the regrets he had because of the things he had been too afraid to take action. He decided once and for all that this was something he _would_ do, no matter what. As he picked up the quill and signed his name on the form, he promised himself that this would be the first step he took on the long journey of all the things he was going to set right.

* * *

 **A/n: Well, a whole bunch-a stuff is gonna start from this point on, so look forward to that!**

 **What did you think about this chapter? Your reviews will make my miserable weeks of struggling through exams so much easier!**

 **Thanks for reading, lovelies, y'all are amazing.**

 **Lots of love~**

 **Arty xx**


	19. 19 Lies: Impasse

**Chapter 19**

 **Impasse**

* * *

 **[14 November 2011]**

 **5:37 PM**

"Oh, you're back early!"

"I didn't know you were here," he said to Hermione as he stepped out of the Floo. "I thought you took Hugo home."

Making his way to where she was, he reached out and gently ruffled a sleeping Hugo's hair. The three-year-old squirmed and mumbled before laying his head on his mother's lap and going back to sleep. Harry smiled as he sat down on the other end of the couch, next to his sleeping daughter, and adjusted the blanket draped over them so it covered their arms and legs that were sticking out from under it.

"Hugh wouldn't stop crying till I brought him back," Hermione was saying. "He could barely stand, but he still refused to miss out on all of the action."

She rolled her eyes, making him laugh. "My kids would've done the same if I were to take them home, now. Speaking of—" he leaned backwards to peer outside the kitchen door, and spotted Ron's mop of red as he chased behind an ecstatic Albus, followed by a less enthusiastic James.

"You're telling me," Hermione said. "James _refuses_ to sit tight. The medicines Molly gave him makes him drowsy, but he just—won't—stay—still. Ron's out there right now trying to tire him out."

Harry laughed at the exasperation in her voice before standing up and walking to the door. "Looks like it's working." He placed his hands on the doorframe and leaned out to yell, "Jamie!"

James whipped around so fast he nearly tripped over his own two feet. He trudged towards Harry looking more than relieved, as though someone had been forcing him to play with his brother and uncle. "Dad," he sniffed, pressing a large wad of napkins to his nose. "I do'd feel so good."

"Maybe it's time we take a nap so we can build up our energy and beat Al and Uncle Ron next time, yeah?" Harry said as he ushered his son inside.

James nodded, making a beeline for one of the sofas, and flopped down on it. Harry tried to coax him to go sleep in his room upstairs, but he just moaned and grunted, and curled up in a ball. Harry shared a look with Hermione before Summoning a blanket. He caught it as it zoomed down the stairs and draped it over his son, who already looked to be half asleep.

Ron came in just then, hair and clothes dishevelled and face red. "Oh, good, you're here. Time for my nap, then." He walked over to his wife and gingerly picked his son up. Hugo struggled, but Ron shushed him as he made his way to the stairs. He clapped Harry on the back as he passed him by, and trudged upstairs, trying to coax a half-awake Hugo back into slumber.

"That leaves just the two," Hermione said as she made her way to the backdoor and peered outside. "Molly! Are Rosie and Al in the orchards?"

Molly called something back that Harry didn't catch, and Hermione nodded as she turned towards him. "They're playing in the mud."

"What, again?" Harry asked as he perched on a stool by the kitchen counter. "Why do kids like playing with dirt so much?" he asked. It was a question they would never find a satisfactory answer to, he knew. "Did they pull out the flowers again?"

"No, Arthur finally ended up making a little sandbox of sorts for the kids by the pond in the garden, so they could play all they wanted without disrupting the flowerbeds."

Harry nodded. "Smart. So, how came you're here? Took the day off, too?" he asked as Hermione shuffled about in the kitchen, looking for something.

"No. I was in the office working all night, so they shooed me out at around lunchtime today and told me not to show my face again for a day or two."

He scoffed at that. "Typical. We're all dying to find an excuse to get out of work, and here you are, having to be literally thrown out."

"Well, excuse me for liking my job," she said over her shoulder. "Tea?"

"No, thanks. I've drunk a little too much tea today."

"There's no such thing as too much tea—"

"Oh, you get what I mean."

He sat back with a sigh, propping his elbows on the counter and letting his head fall back. Closing his eyes, he inhaled the soothing scent of chamomile and revelled in the quiet calmness that surrounded the Burrow. "I can't remember the last time it was this peaceful," he murmured.

Hermione hummed. "You haven't actually relaxed at all today, have you? Molly told me you've been up and about, taking care of the kids and meeting Audrey about pre-schools and stuff. Speaking of, I kept meaning to ask you but never found the time—why not just put them in the same place Rosie and Hugh go to?"

"That's more convenient for you because it's right in the middle of Diagon. Ron can check in on them anytime he wants. It's not as close for Ginny and me.* I've already told you this."

She shrugged. "I thought I'd give it another shot anyway. I mean, Ron's around, so it's not too bad."

"He's got a few more grey hairs just from babysitting them for two days. You think he can survive looking after all five of them on a daily basis _plus_ the shop? Besides, it's going to be peak season, soon."

"Oh, please," she scoffed. "As if there's a season to prank."

He eyed her sideways, eyebrows raised. "Have you learned _nothing_ from being friends with us for all these years? And he's your husband, for Godric's sake."

She rolled her eyes as she stirred her tea. "I don't remember a time I participated in any of your shenanigans."

He gave her a pointed look, and she sniffed. "I was talking about _pranks._ Anyway, why don't you go take a nap, too? You haven't been sleeping too well, recently, have you?"

"Ah, not really tired," he said, looking away, but she seemed to sense his hesitation.

"Did they get bad again?" She glanced around before leaning forwards and whispering, "Your nightmares?"

He shook his head, trying to look as nonchalant as possible, although his heart had started to race. "No, they haven't. In fact, I haven't got one in a while, now. Maybe they're gone."

Well, it wasn't a complete lie. His nightmares _had_ gotten less severe—at least enough that they weren't inducing hallucinations during his waking hours. And it was true that he hadn't been getting them as frequently of late, but he wasn't about to tell her that was thanks to his temporary insomnia.

"All the more reason to go take a nap." She patted him on the back. "Go on, now."

"Yes, Mother," he said with the roll of his eyes, but she only smiled into her cup as she sipped her tea, shooing him off with her free hand.

"Wake me in an hour," he called over his shoulder as he walked to the stairs.

"Sure."

* * *

 _His first thought when he stared down at the vase in his hands and the pile of bodies surrounding him was, 'Oh, great. Another nightmare. I asked for this one, didn't I?'_

 _With a resigned sigh, he looked around, wondering where he was. Something about the fancy-looking room and the shimmering chandelier overhead rang a bell in his mind, but he was too preoccupied by the stench of rotting corpses to dwell on it. He looked back down at the vase he was holding and wondered what in heaven's name he was supposed to do with it._

' _Don't you know?' a voice asked him, echoing around the large room. 'You killed so many people for it, and you don't even know what for?'_

 _He'd killed people for a vase? That didn't make sense._

' _I wouldn't murder innocent people for some stupid vase,' he countered, tossing the object of his worries to the side, but he didn't hear the shattering sound of it crashing against the ground. Turning to look, he saw that it had landed on a body._

 _The body of a brunette wearing expensive clothing soaked in her own blood._

' _So you would kill for something of more value?'_

 _The voice was coming from the dead girl, he was sure. He stepped towards her and squatted beside her head, and just as he had suspected, she turned gleaming eyes the colour of blood to stare up at him, her ethereal voice floating around him like silken feathers. 'You would rob innocent lives for the sake of your own purposes?'_

' _Don't be stupid,' he snapped, taking the vase from her arms and rising to his feet. 'I don't have time to waste on talking corpses. Would you like me to put you out of your misery?'_

 _She cocked her head, wide eyes staring at the vase he was holding, transfixed. 'Get it away,' her voice screamed, although her lips barely moved. 'Get that vile thing away from me!'_

 _He staggered backwards and spun on his heel, causing him to come face to face with someone he knew. Her ebony hair billowed around her caramel-coloured skin, and her blood-red eyes were fixed on him._

' _What will you do, now, Harry?' she asked in a ghostly whisper. 'So many lives wasted… so much talent, lying rotting by our feet. And for what? What great plans do you have in store for the menace that wrought such injustice?'_

' _I'll do what I want with it!' he shouted. 'It's my vase! I'll build a museum for it, if I so desire!'_

' _Yes,' she whispered, her icy breath tickling his already freezing skin. 'Yes, and when you do, you will tell our story, too, won't you?'_

 _She stepped towards him, and he backed away, causing him to trip on a corpse and fall hard on his bottom. He looked up into dead eyes, the pungent scent of blood clinging to him. She spread her arms, and an army of dead people shuffled up to stand behind her. Some faces he recognised, some he was vaguely familiar with, and some, he remembered having slain with his own hands._

' _Will you tell our story, Harry?' hundreds of voices of the dead sang in unison. 'Will you immortalise the tales of our heroic deaths with this vase of suffering?'_

' _It's not a vase of suffering,' he said as he scrambled to his feet. He couldn't understand why he was defending some weird-looking object that held no value to him, but he just felt like he should._

' _The Vase of Suffering,' the voices sang, inching closer and closer, sending tingles down his spine. 'Will you immortalise us?'_

' _No! No, leave me alone!'_

' _A Museum for the Dead! Showcasing the Vase of Suffering!'_

' _It's not—' he gasped, the stench of blood and their echoing song choking him like someone had their hands around his throat and was squeezing the life out of him._

' _What is it?' the ebony-haired woman asked, looming over him, her ghostly whispers forming clouds of red smoke as they left her dead lips. Her thin fingers circled his neck, wisps of ice forming along his skin where she touched him. 'What is it?'_

 _He struggled, but he was frozen on the spot, looking up into crimson eyes and feeling the life leave his lips as though he was being given the Dementor's Kiss._

' _What is it?'_

 _He didn't know._

* * *

 **7:17 PM**

"Harry, wake up—"

"I don't know!"

His eyes flew open, and his vision focused on a bewildered Hermione standing over him. He swallowed thickly as he swiped his sleeve across his forehead drenched with sweat.

"Harry? Are you alright?"

"Fine," he lied, rolling out from under the covers and striding towards the bathroom.

"Harry—"

"I'm _fine,_ Hermione," he snapped, splashing water on his face. He looked up to see her reflection in the mirror. She looked worried.

 _Shite._

He turned to face her and smiled as calmly as he could. He stretched out an arm, motioning to the towel hanging beside her, and she threw it to him. He caught it deftly and dried his face, inhaling the familiar, soothing scent of the Burrow that clung to it. Once he was calm enough, he looked at Hermione and nodded.

"Sorry, I didn't sleep too well. I was pondering over what to do with the vase, and, well…" he trailed off, shrugging, but her concerned expression didn't change.

"You told me your nightmares were better," she said, her voice soft. "You told me they were gone."

"No," he replied as he pushed past her, focusing on keeping his voice steady. "I said _maybe_ they're gone."

"Obviously they're not," she countered, following him back into the room. "Harry, this is serious. Maybe you should—"

"Hermione," he said, cutting her off. "If you expect me to stick to my word, I expect the same from you."

Her eyes glistened, and she shook her head, confused. "I haven't told anyone—"

"No, not about that." He sighed, placing his spectacles on his nose. "You remember how you hated it when I tried to help you when you were recuperating?"

She nodded, blinking rapidly. "Yes. I didn't like the fact that you and Ron kept fawning over me like I was a helpless, pathetic—" she broke off and inhaled sharply.

He held his arms out, eyebrows raised. "Exactly. And I feel the same way. I'm dealing with my problems in the best way that I can, and I don't want you to keep trying to mother me."

"I wasn't trying to mother you," she said, her voice taking on a defensive tone. "I'm just concerned. I thought you had gotten over your trauma, like the rest of us."

"I know," he replied softly. "So did I." He reached over to hold her at arm's length, rubbing slow circles along her skin with his thumbs. "But apparently I haven't. And now, I've finally reached a point where I'm willing to accept things and confront them."

She swallowed, her eyes shining with unshed tears. It hurt him to see her so emotionally distraught, especially considering he was the cause for it, but he knew that she understood his pain better than anyone else. "What can I do?" she asked.

He smiled and pulled her into a hug, inhaling deeply to keep his own emotions in check, and said, "You don't have to do anything. Just knowing you're here for me when I need you is more than enough."

"Oh, Harry," she whispered against his shoulder as she hugged him tight. "I'll _always_ be here for you. So will Ron. So will Ginny." She pulled back to look at him with flushed cheeks and a small smile. "We all love and worry about you very much."

He stepped back, still holding onto her, and cleared his throat, feeling awkward all of a sudden. "Yeah, I know. And I feel the same way, but I just… I just need some space."

She let go of him and stepped back, hands held up in front of her. "Then I'll give you all the space you need. Is this enough?" she stepped further back. "Or do you need some more?"

He laughed, feeling the weight in his chest slowly settle. "Not too much. I reckon that's not too good, either."

She rolled her eyes and chuckled, reaching out to take his hand, and they stood smiling at each other for a few seconds before three knocks on the door shattered the moment. They dropped their hands as Ron poked his head in.

"'Mione, Hugh's awake. He's asking for you."

"Coming, coming," Hermione said, bustling away. She pecked her husband on the cheek on the way out, leaving Harry and Ron to look at each other awkwardly.

Ron nodded, rubbing his palms against the side of his pants. "Alright, Harry?"

Harry smiled. "Fine."

Ron nodded again, muttering something under his breath as he scratched his ear.

"Ron," Harry said, sparing his best friend of the awkwardness. "It's fine if you overheard."

Ron looked up, his blue eyes intense. "So they're really back, then?"

Harry ruffled his hair and nodded. "Yeah."

The ginger looked away and said, "It's fine that you didn't want to worry me and all, but don't go forcing Hermione to make promises that'll only make her worry more."

Harry winced at Ron's bluntness. "Yeah, you're right. Sorry."

Ron nodded again, and an uncomfortable silence stretched between them before the redhead said, "I know we never talked about this, even after the war, when we each had to deal with our own stuff, but just like you can tell when me or Hermione are in pain, we can tell, too, you know. Even if you don't talk to us about it."

Harry swallowed, the weight in his chest shifting to form a knot in his stomach. Ron continued before Harry could think of something to say. "And so can Ginny. You've been together for ages, give her the benefit of the doubt, mate."

He grimaced as he understood the implication behind what Ron had just said. "I know she knows, I just—" he broke off with a shrug, and Ron nodded.

"Yeah. Yeah. We get it, Harry, we really do. And honestly, if I was in your situation, I'm pretty sure I'd be doing the same things you're doing, but just… just know that you don't have to deal with everything on your own. You're no hero. You're just Harry. Despite what the majority of the wizarding world thinks," Ron added, just to bring a little humour into the conversation.

Harry laughed, pinching the bridge of his nose to clear away the tears collecting there. "You're the second person to tell me that today."

Ron scoffed. "Well, whoever else said it sure is wise."

Harry grinned, wondering what Ron's reaction would be if he knew that the other person was Malfoy. _One secret at a time._

"Now, c'mon. I promised the kids we'd tell them some Quidditch stories before dinner."

"Let me guess, you're gonna start with 'Weasley is our King', aren't you?" he asked as they walked down the narrow hallway.

"Hey, let me have my moment. Every other tale is about the 'Youngest Seeker of All Time', so I have to make sure I get my time in the limelight."

Harry laughed as he clapped Ron on the back. "The limelight's all yours. I don't want it."

* * *

 **[15 November 2011]**

 **11:39 AM**

The previous night, he had downed half a bottle of the Calming Draught Molly kept in the first-aid box of the Burrow, and had slept so soundly that even if he had had a nightmare, he hadn't awoken from it. And the best part was that if he _had_ had a nightmare, he didn't remember any of it.

Ron had apparently left to drop Rosie off at her pre-school at around half past eight, after which he'd gotten an excited call from George saying he'd just made a breakthrough in some new experiment or the other, and had rushed off to the shop. Hermione had taken Hugo home around ten when his fever, that he'd developed the previous night, hadn't settled down, leaving Arthur and Molly to go about their morning chores as they let Harry and his kids sleep in well past eleven. They probably would've slept longer, if not for a bored, and very healthy, Albus who had pestered them to wake up.

James had all but thrown his brother out of the room he and Lily were sharing, so they didn't spread their colds, leaving the middle of the three children to proceed to annoy his father into wakefulness as a means of entertaining himself.

"Dad! Dad! Dad!"

Harry groaned as Albus bounced on top of him, not caring in the least for his father's fatigue or problems, and he finally gave in by rolling out of bed.

"Alright, alright. I'm awake. Now, go away." He tried to shoo his son out of the room, but Albus was stubborn.

"Dad, are you going to work today?"

"Yeah. What time is it, anyway?"

He looked down at his five-year-old, who just stared back up at him with wide eyes, and he nodded. "Right."

"When's Mummy coming back?" Albus asked as Harry finished freshening up and picked up his glasses from the nightstand.

"Dunno," Harry said with a yawn, and Albus stuck his lower lip out, pouting.

"Why not? I miss her!"

Feeling guilty, he patted his son on the head and said, "She misses you, too, Al, but she's busy. You know that."

"Then can _we_ go see her?"

He deliberated over that as he padded down the hallway to check up on the other two. "Maybe we can. Al, go downstairs while I pop in to check on Jamie and Lils."

"Why? I wanna come, too!"

"Because they're sick, Al, and I don't want you catching their cold."

"But I _hate_ being the only one that's not sick! It's so _boring!_ I want to be sick, too!"

Harry groaned as he picked Albus up and carried him down to the living room. "You can't be sick, too, Al. That's not how it works."

"Why not?"

"Because… then you can't visit your mum. You want to go see her, don't you?"

Albus frowned as he thought that over and then nodded. "Yeah!"

"Alright, then. Be a good boy and go help your grandparents," he said as he made his way back up the stairs.

"But Grampa's reading the paper, and Gramma's talking to her flowers," Albus called after him.

"Then go sit in a corner or something," Harry called back before ducking into Lily and James' room with a sigh. "Alright, you two, how're you holding up?"

The duo looked up from Lily's bed, where they were playing some sort of hand game. "We're fit as a fiddle, so can we go out and play, now?" James piped up, climbing out of bed.

"Fiddlesticks!" Lily chipped in, following after her brother.

"Where'd you learn that word, Lily?" Harry asked as he squatted down and pressed his palms against the kids' foreheads. "Well, looks like you don't have a fever anymore."

"No cold, either," James declared, inhaling through his nose to make a point, but he broke off coughing, and Harry patted him on the head. "See?"

"Sure. You're hail and healthy. Did Grandma give you your medicines?"

"We took 'em," James whined. "Dad we're _fine,_ so can we go out and play? _Please?"_

Lily nodded, looking up at him with big, round eyes. "Pwease?"

He sighed and stood, giving in to their cuteness. "Alright, fine. But only for an hour. Am I clear?"

They nodded hurriedly as they started to change out of their pyjamas. Harry helped Lily into her frock and sweater before they zoomed out of the room and down the stairs.

"No running down the stairs!" he called as he followed after them, his stomach grumbling for food.

There were joyous shouts as the three siblings were reunited—Albus squished his sister in a hug till she started to screech—and they ran out to the back garden just as Molly was stepping in.

"Oh, my. Why're you all out of bed?" she asked, but the kids took no heed of her as they ran out the door.

"Morning," he greeted his mother-in-law as she made her way to the kitchen. "Is it too late for breakfast?"

"Well, it is," she said, "but that doesn't mean I can't whip up some bacon and eggs for you."

"Thanks." He smiled as he settled down by the counter and poured himself some coffee from the pot.

"Energetic even when they're sick, aren't they?" Arthur said as he hobbled in, laughing heartily. "Makes me wonder how I raised _seven_ of them."

"Your belly wasn't half as round, I'd daresay," Molly said, waving her spatula. "The exercise will do you good."

"That's not what I'll be hearing when I keel over," he muttered to Harry as he walked past and sat himself down in his favourite armchair.

"Coffee, Arthur?" Harry asked, to which the older wizard waved a hand.

"No, no, Molly thinks the caffeine isn't good for me."

"That's right! Gives you the illusion of having all the energy in the world, it does! And then I'll be the one to lug your sorry arse inside when you're huffing and puffing and wheezing your poor lungs out."

Arthur grumbled, and Harry chuckled as he sipped his coffee, enjoying the usual banter between the two.

"Oh, that's right, Harry, dear. An owl came in with a letter for you earlier this morning. It had the Ministry's seal on it, so I thought it was something official. Didn't have the heart to wake you, though, so I just kept it aside to give it to you later." She looked around, her bushy hair, now more grey than red, flapping about. "Now, where did I put that blasted letter?"

"It's over here, by the fireplace," Arthur called from behind Harry, pointing at the little basket on the side table.

"Yes, yes, I put it in here, I remember," Molly said as she bustled over and handed Harry the letter.

"Thanks," he said as he spotted Buxley's familiar scrawl.

He ripped open the envelope and unfolded the letter, scanning its contents as he sipped on his coffee. It wasn't anything urgent, just an update of everything that had been going on at the office while he was away, and on the vandals case, and that the higher ups had sent someone else that morning to ask, once again, if the vase had been taken care of. Sighing, he decided it was faster to just head over instead of replying to the letter, so he finished his coffee and stood up.

"Breakfast will be ready in a moment, dear," Molly informed him, and he told her he'd have a quick bath and come back down.

Once he was ready and was finished with breakfast, he pocketed the letter, said bye to his kids, Molly and Arthur, and Floo-d to the Ministry.

The Auror Office was bustling, and he stepped into his office to see a smartly dressed blond wizard seated in the chair opposite his.

"Morning, Dyers," Harry greeted the man as he took his coat off and made his way around the desk. "What brings you to my office today?"

Dyers didn't even bother holding back his groan as he ran a hand through his perfectly combed hair and fixed Harry with a tired gaze. "Look, I know it's irksome to keep hearing this over and over again, but trust me, it's just irksome to keep having to come down here and tell you over and over again."

"Higher-ups giving you trouble?" Harry asked as he flipped through the memos Buxley had left on his desk.

"They're driving me mad, Potter! Mad! And the German Ministry's refusing to give us even the slightest amount of information on the Barkridge case, despite us helping them close it. They keep saying that it's not our problem anymore, which is true, but that doesn't mean they can just get away with being tight-lipped about it! Not after barging in here without any prior notice and sending the whole Ministry into a frenzy!" Dyers said in a rush, his blue eyes bulging out of his head. "You're lucky you don't have to handle the mess of legal stuff that comes with every case you clear."

"That's why I have you," he said with a grin. "And tell your bosses that I'm taking care of the vase as we speak."

Dyers sat back, looking immensely relieved. "Oh, fantastic. They'll be _thrilled_ to hear that, I'm sure. So, what're you going to do with it?"

Harry shrugged. "Place it in my vault in Gringotts till I find a more suitable use for it."

Dyers held his hands up, looking satisfied. "As long as it's out of here and out of my hair, I don't care what you do with it. Everyone just wants this to be over and done with, and tied up in a nice, big bow."

"Nobody wants that more than me and my lads, trust me," Harry said as Dyers rose to his feet. "Oh, and Hermione's taking the day off. Her son's sick."

"Please, tell her to take another day off. No, actually, tell her to take the rest of the week off, is she pleases. The longer she's gone, the better for the rest of us."

Harry frowned at the man. "Why d'you say that? I can't think of any reason why she's not doing a good enough job."

"Oh, no," Dyers sighed. "It's the exact opposite, in fact. She's doing such a marvellously fantastic job that she's making the rest of us look bad! You think I _chose_ to deal with some bloody vase by choice? No! I had to do _something_ to make myself look better, you know."

Harry laughed at that, throwing his head back and guffawing till his eyes watered. Dyers went red in the face, grumbling. "You lot should stop being such over achievers and stop trying to revolutionise things around here. It's a pain in the arse for the rest of us."

"Whining 'bout it isn't gonna help, Dyers," Harry said with a grin. "I think this is your chance to up your game and show 'em what you're made of, eh?"

The blond rolled his eyes and strode to the door. "Just get that bloody vase out of here, Potter. I'll handle the rest."

"You can count on that," he called after the man as he flopped down on his chair.

Just as Dyers disappeared out the door, an Auror, whom he recognised as Buxley's right hand, poked his head in. "Sir, the papers?"

"Got them right here." Harry held up a stack of paperwork. "How's your new post treating you, Rogers?"

The younger man saluted smartly before taking the papers. "Very well, sir. Thank you for asking. I've actually been meaning to come in and give you my thanks."

"You deserve it," Harry said with a kind nod. "Don't tell him I said so, but Buxley speaks very highly of you. Just keep doing whatever you're doing, and there shouldn't be any problems."

"Yessir! Thank you, sir!"

Harry smiled, leaning back in his seat. "Speaking of your boss, where is he? I haven't seen him around since I came in."

"Oh, you haven't heard?" Rogers' expression turned worried. "He collapsed earlier this morning."

Harry was on his feet in an instant. "What?!"

"It's nothing serious!" Rogers said quickly. "The Healers told us he was just overworked. A couple days' rest and he should be fine."

Harry sighed, pressing his fingers to his temples. "Rogers, from here on, I'm transferring the vandals case to you. Once Buxley gets back on track, he can lead the investigation, but till then, I want _you_ to take charge of it. Under my supervision, of course."

Rogers stared at him wide-eyed before saluting again. "Yessir!"

"Right, well, here're your papers. Good luck."

The man took the papers and strode out, leaving Harry feeling shaken up. _I should've stopped him,_ he thought, wondering if he was going to receive another Howler from Buxley's wife.

He stared at his desk, lost in thought. "Forgot to ask where he is right now," he muttered as he flopped back in his chair, feeling tired. He reached for the buzzer that would summon Buxley and then paused, biting back a frustrated sigh. Instead, he wrote a memo on one of the coloured pads, folded it up into a paper plane, and threw it across the room. It flew out the door, and he sat back, waiting for Rogers to poke his head in again.

 _Looks like it's going to be another long week._

* * *

 ***What he means by the pre-school in Diagon's not as close for Ginny and him is that they live in Godric's Hollow (according to me, anyway), so going back and forth between the two places is a pain. Especially since there's three kids, so Side-along Apparition isn't always a very viable option. Just wanted to clarify that in case you guys are wondering how that's possible since the Ministry's in London (Harry can't keep leaving his job to check on the kids like Ron usually can). That's all.**

 **A/n: Finals are _done!_ Wohoo! That means more time to write (hopefully). So what d'you guys think about Ron finding out about the nightmares? I imagine he would react the way he did, since they're older now and Ron respects that Harry doesn't want to announce to everyone that he still isn't over his trauma.**

 **Waiting for your reviews on what you thought about this chapter!**

 **Lots of love~**

 **Arty xx**


	20. 20 Lies: Falling Apart

**Chapter 20**

 **Falling Apart**

 **[15 November 2011]**

 **5:22 PM**

He knocked on the door to Buxley's hospital room, a small bouquet of flowers in his hand. As he waited, he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, nervous and anxious at the prospect of having to face Buxley's wife. He'd never met the woman before, but from the Howler he'd received, and Buxley's constant complaining, he was under the assumption that she wasn't a very pleasant person. And of all the ways to meet her, it had to be the one situation that he dreaded the most.

The door cracked open, and a short, squat brunette witch poked her head out. "Yes?"

He held the bouquet up and smiled. "Good evening. I'm Harry Potter. I'm here to see Jon."

The woman frowned, recognition glittering in her dark eyes, and just as he thought she would shut the door on his face, she pulled it open and moved aside. He nodded his thanks as he stepped in, eyes moving around the small room till they settled on the bed, where an exhausted-looking Buxley was sleeping peacefully.

"May I?" Mrs Buxley asked as she motioned to the flowers in his hands.

"Oh, yes, thank you." He handed her the bouquet and watched as she undid the wrapping and replaced the flowers in the glass jar beside the bed with it. He waited awkwardly till she was done and walked up to him, her eyes never leaving the floor. He had half a mind to apologise to her, but he remained silent.

"Please, have a seat," she said politely after a moment, gesturing to the two chairs beside the bed.

He mumbled his thanks as he sat on the one closer to the end of the bed, while she took the other one. She reached over to hold her husband's hand, her eyes looking suspiciously moist, and he cleared his throat, feeling awkward.

"Sorry for coming so suddenly," he said after a moment, finding the need to apologise for _something._ "I wanted to come earlier, but things were pretty hectic at the office."

She looked up at him and offered him a small smile. "Jon wouldn't have been too pleased if you'd abandoned your work to come see him, I daresay."

He chucked and nodded. She turned back to watch her sleeping husband, and he couldn't dissipate the lump of guilt that settled in his stomach. He wanted to apologise to her for not stopping her husband before he keeled over from overworking himself, but he didn't know how to breach the topic without upsetting her. Before he could come to a solution, she spoke up.

"Our eldest, Ryan, he's currently training to be an Auror, just like his father." She turned to look at Harry, her eyes shining with pride. "I didn't want him to join, and I still try to talk him out of it, but he's adamant. His goal is to replace his father as Deputy Auror so Jon can retire."

She chuckled wryly, shaking her head, and he nodded, because he wasn't sure what he was supposed to say to that piece of information. "You must not have a very good impression of me," she continued, "since I sent you that horrible Howler."

He blustered, not knowing how to respond, but she only laughed, seeming embarrassed. "I've wanted to apologise for that since the moment I sent it. I don't know _what_ came over me. I don't think Jon's ever been that angry with me in all the years we've been together."

He cleared his throat, the awkwardness only growing, but she didn't seem to notice as she kept talking. "That was the time Ryan had first declared that he was going to be an Auror. I was furious. I already worry myself mad every single day over Jon, and I just couldn't imagine how I would survive knowing my boy was sharing the same fate." She shook her head. "But, like father like son, I suppose. My words fell on deaf ears, and Jon was ill around the same time, so I took my frustrations out on you."

She bowed her head and said, "I truly am sorry. I'm very grateful for all you've done for my husband and son."

"No, please," he said, unable to tolerate it anymore. "Your worries aren't baseless at all. The work we do _is_ dangerous, and I don't think the force would be the same without Jon. He's helped me on countless occasions, and for that, I'll be ever grateful."

She smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling, unshed tears swimming in them, and rose to her feet. "Excuse me, I have to go…call the nurse," she said, making her way to the door.

He watched her go, helpless, and remained staring at the door till there was a cough from his side. He turned to see Buxley eyeing him with a somewhat embarrassed expression, and Harry realised he must've been awake the whole time.

"At least save me the pain of embarrassing myself if you're awake," he grumbled as he moved to the other chair.

Buxley coughed again. "I wanted to, trust me, but there wasn't a right moment to interrupt."

Harry grunted, scratching the back of his neck. "How're you feeling?"

"I would like to say I'm completely fine, but nobody's going to believe me anyway, so I shall admit—I'm tired, Harry. Very tired." Harry winced from how slow and lethargic the other wizard sounded, his eyes barely open. "Haven't been this tired in a long time."

"Never thought I'd live to see the day you admit that," Harry said, and Buxley chuckled quietly.

"Neither did I. But I have to say—being the Deputy Auror, I would've expected the service here to be better, ya know? Better looking nurses at least, for Morgana's sake."

Harry laughed, and Buxley cracked a smile. "So, I know me being hospitalised puts a damper on our progress on the vandals case, but you don't have to worry. I'll be up and about before you know it."

"About that," Harry said, shifting in his seat. "I've handed the case over to Rogers. Only till you're back on your feet and ready to take charge, of course," he added quickly as Buxley's expression darkened.

"You _what?"_

Harry felt a shiver run down his spine as he saw the fire burning in Buxley's dark eyes. "Look," he said quickly. "It's not like I'm pulling you off the case or anything. Neither is it like Rogers is gonna replace you. It's just temporary till—"

"Till I pull a muscle or strain my back or do something else that gets me back in the hospital again?"

Harry winced at the accusing tone of the man's voice, but he couldn't deny the truth in his words.

"I know I'm not exactly at the peak of my career," Buxley continued, his voice growing more haggard as he spoke, "but I'm good at what I do, and despite what anybody else thinks or says, I'm not that easy to replace."

"Buxley, relax," Harry said, holding up a hand. "I already told you, I am _not_ replacing you. Rogers is still under my supervision. He's only going to make a move once I give him permission to do so. And as soon as you're back, _you'll_ be the one giving the orders."

Buxley's eyes were so dark, they seemed to be bottomless, black pits. "So you're telling me that even after I'm better, I still can't lead the charge on the front lines?"

Harry clenched his jaw and inhaled deeply. He had expected this conversation to happen when he had decided to come visit, and although he had great respect for the man and the last thing he wanted was to injure his pride, he still had a duty to perform as the Head Auror.

"You admitted yourself that you aren't on the top of your game. Besides, Jon—" Buxley grimaced at being addressed by his first name, "—you're the Deputy Head, for Merlin's sake. There's no _need_ for you to go out on the front lines except when absolutely necessary."

Buxley scoffed. "Says the man who won't sit behind his desk for more than a couple hours at a time."

"I also happen to have the advantage of being half your age," Harry retorted, straightening his back to give the illusion of being intimidating.

"I'm not sixty," Buxley grumbled, but Harry knew that the other man knew he had to accept defeat.

"This isn't a punishment, Buxley," he said. "I'm doing this for your sake. Besides, sooner or later the DMLE's gonna butt in and tell you to either step back or step down, anyway. This is the second time in a few months that you've been incapacitated."

Buxley sighed long and slow, and let his eyes slip shut. His breathing evened out, and Harry almost thought he'd fallen asleep 'til he cracked his eyes open and focused them on Harry.

"Well, better Rogers than some other incompetent bloke, I s'pose." Buxley finally muttered. He then turned to stare at the ceiling, pulled the covers up to his chin, and said, "Thanks for visiting, boss."

Realising that was his cue to leave, Harry stood up and made his way around the bed. "Get some rest, Buxley. I'll see if I can send Rogers 'round to visit later."

"Oh, don't bother," Buxley's defeated voice replied from under the sheets. "I'm not really in a state to handle his enthusiasm."

Harry nodded, shooting the older man a solemn glance before stepping out the door. He wondered where Mrs Buxley was, when a strapping young blond strode up to him and saluted smartly.

"Thank you for visiting, sir. My mother's very grateful."

Harry reckoned he was Ryan, and with a clap on the fellow's shoulder, he wished him good luck and walked down the corridor. He knew Buxley would be seething and sulking for as long as he was hospitalised, but he knew better than anyone that the man understood the position he was in.

Buxley had been Harry's mentor when he had first joined the force, and the one who had supported him throughout his career as an Auror. He knew that Robards had only stepped down so Harry could become Head because he trusted Buxley to look out for him and make sure he didn't do anything stupid.

He really had meant what he'd said to Mrs Buxley: he would always be grateful to the man, but everyone has their time in the limelight, after which they need to step back and let other prospective candidates take their place and support them to the best of their abilities. Harry knew his time would come sooner or later, and he knew that he would be more than glad to hand everything over to his successor and retire. Although he was passionate about his job, he didn't quite love it as much as Buxley did.

Scratching the back of his neck as he made his way out of St Mungo's, his mind returned to the other most pressing matter on hand: what the hell to do with the bloody vase.

 **[16 November 2011]**

 **11:17 AM**

He looked up from gathering the documents he'd forgotten at home when he heard the telltale hiss of the Floo. Striding over to it, he got on his knees and stuck his head under the mantle. The burning logs fizzled, and Ron's face appeared in the fireplace.

"Oh, good, I caught you," the ginger said.

"Yeah, I came back because I forgot some files. What's going on?"

"Well, apparently Mum's been feeling a little under the weather since last night, and Dad thinks she might've caught the kids' cold, so the trio are over at our place today. Just thought you should know."

"Oh," Harry replied, scratching his chin. "You don't have to be at the shop?

"Er, yeah, but George said he has it under control for now, so…" he trailed off, looking over his shoulder. "Look, mate, I know you've been spending time with them despite being busy and everything, but I think the kids're starting to feel homesick. 'Specially Al and Lily. I think it'd be better if you brought them home for a day or two, just 'til they're back to their usual, chipper selves."

Harry sighed deeply and ran a hand down his face. "Sorry 'bout that. D'you think you could keep them occupied till the evening? I'll see if I can finish up early and bring them home."

Ron's disembodied head bobbed as he nodded. "Sure, sure, no problem. 'Mione and I don't mind at all. I mean, Ginny and you've looked after Rosie and Hugh a bunch of times before, so it's all good. Just thought I should tell you is all."

"Yeah. Thanks. Anyway, there's a couple things I need to handle right away, so I'll see you around dinner time?"

"Roger that."

Harry nodded and thanked Ron before pulling his head out. He remained on his knees for a long moment, lost in thought as he stared into the burning coals, and finally reached up to grab a handful of Floo powder. He tossed it onto the firewood, stuck his head in, and muttered, "Silver Sprigs Montessori."

He waited for the Fire-call to connect, and leaned forwards as the face of a blonde witch appeared. "Good day! I'm Vanessa from Silver Sprigs. How may I help you?"

"Hi. I'm Harry Potter. I'm currently looking for a school to enrol my kids in, and I wondered if I could take a look around your place for a bit before I made a decision. I haven't been to any other schools, yet, so it would be really helpful if I could get a brief tour."

He watched as the blonde's eyes went round once he introduced himself and hoped that she'd paid attention to whatever he'd said after that. "Of course," she squeaked, and then cleared her throat, seeming embarrassed. "Of course, sir. When would be a convenient time for you?"

He thought about that for a moment and said, "Is now OK? I have a bit of time to spare before I'm needed at work, so if it's alright with you…"

"Oh, yes! Yes, of course!"

"Great." He shifted as his knees started to ache and said, "By the way, is a Mrs Audrey Weasley there right now? She's a relative of mine, so…"

"Miss Audrey's in the dining room right now, but she would definitely be available to show you around! Shall I open the Floo for you, sir?"

"Yes, please."

He pulled his head out and straightened up, wincing at the sharp pain in his knees, and stepped into the fireplace. A moment later there was the familiar _whoosh,_ and he closed his eyes as he the usual dizziness took over. He belatedly wondered if he should've sent an owl back to the office letting them know he'd be late, but then decided it didn't really matter since he was the boss. Stepping out, he smiled at the eagerly waiting blonde—who was holding a tray with a glass of water, a napkin, and even a plate of biscuits—and made his way over to her.

"Good to see you in person, Vanessa," he said kindly as he took the glass of water and thanked her.

She flushed, her face going red all the way to her hairline, and giggled in an embarrassed way. He smiled at her reaction. No matter how many years passed, it always amused him to see the way people reacted when he introduced himself. Almost every other time they never gave him a second glance, but the moment he told them he was _the_ Harry Potter, their entire demeanour did a 180 and they would treat him like he could walk on water.

"Miss Audrey has been informed of your arrival," the young witch said with a little bow, motioning to the door. "This way, please."

As he followed her, he quickly glanced around the room. To the right of the fireplace was the main entrance, which comprised of two very heavy-looking ornate doors that had been pushed open. To his left was the reception desk. As he stepped out into the hallway, he noticed that it didn't look at all like he'd expected to look.

The hallway opened out to a large room with shelves and cupboards in one corner, a bunch of tables and chairs of different sizes in another corner, and lining the walls were shelves that held all sorts of magical toys and the like. The room was brightly lit, the walls were covered with coloured wallpaper, and there were amusing-looking portraits and paintings on the wall. The ceiling had a skylight, so the entire room was well-lit by natural light, and the left side had wall-length glass sliding doors that led to a wide play area in the back, complete with swing-sets and the like.

He had expected the place to look stiff and dull, like what he thought a typical noble's house would look, since Audrey had told him that Silver Sprigs used to be an old couple's summer house before they converted it into a pre-school for children of nobles and other famous people.

"Miss Audrey is here, Mr Potter," Vanessa said, and he turned to see Audrey making her way down from the other end of the hallway, a wide smile on her face.

"This is a pleasant surprise," she said when Vanessa excused herself and returned to her desk.

"Sorry about coming unannounced," he said as she motioned back down the way she'd come. "I hope I didn't cause any inconvenience."

"Not at all. In fact, you came at the right time. There's barely a handful over today, so it's not very busy."

They walked down the short corridor and turned left to enter what looked like a kitchen-cum-dining area. There were a handful of children from around the age of four till about ten sitting at a large, round table, eating their meal and chattering amongst themselves.

"The morning session's nearly done," Audrey said as she pointed out various things in the room to Harry and then led him out. "We have another hour or so of free play, and then the kids leave. The afternoon session begins at two. That one usually has more kids because a lot of the parents work later during the day, but you can choose to put them in either sessions, whichever one is more convenient for you."

They'd reached the other end of the corridor, which led to a room that was mostly empty, except for a backboard on the wall opposite the door with three rows of benches in front of it, and had the feel of a common room. Audrey walked over to the wall on the left and knocked on it, causing a small, child-sized bed to spring out and stretch itself out.

"The children call this the nap room, but it's mostly used for the more formal lessons, like etiquettes and stuff like that that noble children are expected to learn."

He scrunched up his nose, and seeing his expression, she laughed. "I know what you're thinking, but this isn't your typical, stiff, formal sort of thing. It's more basic than that. We just try to inculcate good table manners and teach them how to be polite and stuff like that. The more formal stuff they're already taught at home."

She turned towards him with a smile. "And that's about it. What do you think?"

He looked around and noticed that the ceiling and edges of the walls still had ornate fixtures on them, and the building itself had sort of an ancient feel to it. Although there weren't that many rooms, what rooms were there were spacious and large, despite the fact that there weren't all that many children enrolled in the school. It definitely had a more… fancy air to it, as compared to the previous pre-school the kids had been in.

"I have to admit, I didn't expect it to be this… normal," he confessed, making Audrey laugh.

"I know what you mean. I had the same reaction when I first came here. The method of teaching they follow is also relatively simple and straightforward. None of the old-age 'Pureblood upbringing' and whatnot."

He nodded. "Looks good to me. I mean, I think the kids'll like it here."

Audrey smiled. "I'm sure they will. The children are very sweet and gentle, and some of them are rather shy, even. I think your kids will fit right in."

He hummed in thought as they made their way to the largest of the rooms—the one with the skylight. Audrey was telling him about the schedule and the other staff members and stuff, but he wasn't really paying attention. He'd sort of just up and decided to come here because of Ron's Fire-call, not actually because he'd wanted to enrol his children right away. Besides, he hadn't yet discussed anything with Ginny, and he knew she wouldn't be too thrilled if he made important decisions without her.

"I was just wondering," he said when Audrey stopped speaking. "Is it possible to leave my kids here for a day or two before we decide to put them here? Just to see how they react. The last school wasn't a very pleasant experience for them, so I just want to make sure that they fit in alright before making a decision."

Audrey looked thoughtful as she said, "Well, in ordinary circumstances we wouldn't really allow it, I don't think, but since I only recently joined, I'm not entirely sure. Maybe you could talk to the manager and see what she says?"

Harry nodded. "Sounds good. Where do I find her?"

"Ah, she's out of town, actually. But I reckon I could send her a letter on your behalf. She should be back by the weekend."

He smiled as they walked back to the fireplace. Vanessa sprang to her feet immediately, and Harry nodded to her. "Thanks for the tour. I'll be in touch."

"My pleasure, Mr Potter!"

He waved to Audrey as he grabbed some Floo powder and ducked under the mantle. The two women stood watching him as the green flames burst around him, engulfing him in their mild warmth.

 **12:30 PM**

Once he'd owled the office that he'd be back after lunch, he proceeded to call Ginny to tell her about Silver Sprigs. They hadn't yet had that particular conversation, yet, and as he listened to the ringtone, he started to bounce his knee, his frustration building up when the call automatically got disconnected because she hadn't answered it. He wondered what she was doing, because he was sure it was her lunch break and she always answered his calls then. Staring at the screen, he wondered if he should just call her later when the phone buzzed.

"Hey, Gin. Are you busy?"

"I was just sitting down for lunch," she said, and he could hear the chatter of people from the other end of the line.

"Do you want me to call you back?"

"No, no, it's fine. What's going on?"

He inhaled deeply and cleared his throat before saying. "You said Molly spoke to you about putting the kids back in school?"

"Yeah, she did. We had an argument over it, actually." She sighed. "I think it's high time we put them back. I've been talking to them about how they would feel about going back to school, and Al kept giving me vague answers, but Jamie and Lily seemed excited."

"Oh, they did? That's good. I was worried they were still nervous about…" he trailed off, and Ginny hummed in thought.

"Yeah, but they're kids, Harry. I don't think they're half as worried about it as we are."

He pinched the bridge of his nose and nodded. "That's true. Have you spoken to them recently?"

"I chatted with Al yesterday. He was complaining about how bored he was because Jamie and Lily were sick." They chuckled at that. "Ron sent me a message earlier saying the kids're over at their place."

"Oh, yeah, apparently Molly caught the kids' colds."

Ginny groaned. "Yeah, I think it's time we send them to school. My parents must be exhausted with all the things they've been handling recently. Did you hear about Mr Perriwinkle? A real tragedy. Dad was so upset."

"Yeah, yeah I heard."

There was a pause, and he bit back a sigh as he continued to bounce his leg. Somehow he was feeling really agitated and the more he tried to calm himself, the more he wanted to snap at someone.

"Harry? What's going on? You sound… frustrated."

 _And of course she noticed._ His mind went back to his conversation with Ron about him giving Ginny the benefit of the doubt, and he sighed.

"It's nothing. I spoke to Audrey about the pre-schools thing since Ron said she could help, and I just got back from the place she works at. It's a pretty nice school. It's for the rich and noble kids, so there won't be any problems of discrimination or the stuff that happened last time."

"Wait, wait," Ginny said. "You spoke to Audrey? When did this happen?"

"Two days ago."

"Oh. Alright. And you said you checked out a school already?"

"Yeah, yeah." He relaxed back into the plush leather of the armchair as he said, "It's actually pretty great. It's wide and spacious, and I saw a couple kids, too. They were rather well behaved and didn't seem like the kind to pick silly fights. But, you know, they're kids. They don't actually need a valid reason to start fighting."

"Harry," Ginny said, and it seemed like she was trying very hard to not sound angry. He frowned.

"Yeah?"

"You sound like you've already decided that our kids are going to this—this—"

"Silver Sprigs."

"Whatever."

His frown deepened and he had a flashback to the countless arguments they'd had over pre-schools and where to enrol the kids. He started to feel a headache settle behind his temples and he closed his eyes.

"Ginny, you said you wanted to put them in a school, and I found a really good one. I'm not saying we've to enrol them there, but Audrey works there, and I spoke to one of the parents whose kid goes there and he recommended it, too—"

"What parent? Whose parent?"

His eyes flew open and he instantly regretted having said that. Heart thundering in his chest as an image of Malfoy flashed through his head, he fumbled for words, mind racing to come up with a believable lie. "This fellow who works at the Ministry," he finally managed, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribcage, "I just happened to mention pre-schools, and he said he had a son who went to Silver Sprigs, so we got to chatting about it."

"I thought you said it was for the rich and famous or something?"

He held his breath and closed his eyes, feeling the burn of exhaustion under his eyelids. "Yeah. He's the head of some department."

"Really? What department?"

"Does it matter?" he snapped and then sighed. "Look, I'm not making this decision without you. Which is why I've been asking you when you're coming home. The kids've been saying they miss you and Ron told me they're homesick, and I just think it'd be better if you were home."

"Harry, come on," Ginny said, and he could hear the frustration in her voice. "I'm gone for two weeks— _two weeks—_ out of the whole year, and you behave as though the world is ending. What about all the times you're away and I've had to single-handedly deal with everything? And I'm with the kids _all day,_ mind you. You've just been handing them over from one person to another like they're hot potatoes."

"I have work to do," he retorted, even though his brain was telling him that her argument was valid and that he was the unreasonable one.

"And what am I doing here? Having a gala of a time with my girlfriends, is it?"

He grit his teeth, and a heavy silence descended upon them. He could hear the scraping sound as she pushed back her chair and excused herself, and he could imagine how embarrassed she should be for having yelled at him over the phone in front of all her friends.

"Look," she said in a quiet voice after a moment, "I know we've both been stressed out of late, and the tournament came at a wrong time, but we've been through worse. This barely scratches the surface."

He sighed. "You're right. I'm sorry. Just having to rely on Ron and Hermione and your parents all the time sort of got to me, I suppose."

She chuckled softly. "Well, you're too self-righteous for your own good."

He snorted at that, and there was another brief silence before he said, "I still think this is the right school. I know you're going to want to take a look for yourself, but I assure you that we won't regret it."

"I'll take your word for it," she replied. "I was just surprised that you'd done so much and hadn't even told me about it."

"I know." He raked a hand through his hair. "I suppose I'm just not used to not having you around to deal with everything."

She laughed. "I can see that. This is why I didn't want to leave everything and come away for two whole weeks."

"Do you trust me so little?" he asked with a chuckle, and she laughed.

"Is that a rhetorical question?"

They lapsed into silence again, but this time he was smiling, and he knew she was, too. "Come home soon. We're all missing you."

"I will. Come Wednesday, and everything's gonna be back to normal."

He froze, a feeling of trepidation trickling down his spine as he asked, "Wednesday?"

"Huh? Yeah. Didn't I tell you? I'm coming back next Wednesday."

He ran his free hand down his face and controlled his urge to sigh. "I thought you said you're coming back this weekend."

"No," she replied slowly. "I said I might not be able to come back this weekend. It's only three days later, it's not that big of a deal."

"That's still a week away from now," he said, his voice strained. "Isn't the tournament ending this weekend? Why d'you have to stay till Wednesday?"

"Harry, come on, you know how these things work—"

 _That bloody line again._

"No, I don't," he snapped, his irritation at its peak. He rubbed his temples as he felt the headache settle there and sighed. "I don't understand why you have to stay three extra days once your work is done, so can you please explain it to me?"

She didn't reply immediately, and he knew she knew he was angry, but he _had_ asked her to explain herself, so she couldn't call him out for being unreasonable. Finally, she said, "There's a whole bunch of post-match interviews I need to do, plus the after parties—and the girls want to celebrate their win. Besides Ang—"

Ginny broke off abruptly, probably having realised that mentioning Angelina's name was only going to irritate Harry even more, but the damage was already done. "What's Angie saying now?" he asked, trying to make his voice sound as nonchalant as possible, but there was a definite edge to it.

"Nothing," Ginny replied a little too quickly. "Nothing at all. There's just stuff that I need to take care of, alright?"

"What _stuff?"_

"Harry," she said, the exasperation clear in her voice. "You're doing it again."

"Doing what?" he asked defensively.

"You're doing that thing where you interrogate me about every single word I say."

He frowned. "No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are. Look, I don't keep pushing you about your cases, do I? So why is it that you're suddenly so interested in what work I'm doing?"

 _Is it just me or does it seem like she's trying really hard to hide something by pushing the blame onto me?_

"I would _love_ to tell you all about my cases, trust me, but unfortunately they're confidential. So even if I wanted to, I couldn't tell you."

"Yes, well, it turns out that there exists something similar between a journalist and her interviewee."

"I'm not asking you _who_ you're interviewing or _what_ you're interviewing them about," he retorted angrily. "I'm just asking you what's keeping you away for three extra days."

"This is ridiculous," she snapped, and he heard the sound of a door banging. "You complain about me not trusting you enough when you constantly accuse me of—"

"I'm not _accusing_ you of anything!" he all but yelled, his voice having risen several octaves. He had jumped to his feet and was pacing up and down the room in his agitation. "I'm just _asking_ you—"

"So stop _asking_ me!" she snapped, cutting him off. "I am away for fifteen bloody days out of the entire year," she repeated, "and you're acting as though I make it a habit to stay away from home as much as possible without giving you a valid reason! I'm working, goddamnit, so stop pestering me and _asking_ me about every bloody thing I do! I'll come home once I finish work, and that's that. Is there anything else you need to clarify, or can I go eat my lunch because people are staring at me like I'm a complete lunatic."

She sounded like she was on the brink of breaking down into tears, and he felt guilt well up in his stomach, but he was much too angry to do anything about it. "Well, sorry for missing my wife and wanting her to come home," he snapped. "Please, go ahead and eat your lunch, don't let a conversation with your husband—whom you haven't seen in over a week—keep you from _work._ "

He whipped the phone from his ear and punched the _end call_ button with his finger. Crying out in frustration, he threw his phone across the room and watched it smack the wall hard and clatter to the floor.

"Shite," he said, raking his hands through his hair and squatting down. He hadn't meant what he'd said… he really hadn't. But he was just so _angry_. He didn't even know _why_ he was so angry but he just was. Everything was just too much for him and the fact that Ginny was right—that he couldn't even deal with simple things without her—just added to his frustrations even more. He didn't want to entertain the monsters in the back of his mind that poked and prodded at his conscience and whispered about what a bad father and husband he was, and everything was just _too much._

In his attempt to keep his nightmares at bay and handle them, he'd unconsciously been spending less and less time sleeping, and everything that had happened over the past week had just all come together and culminated in the huge blowout that had just occurred. Everything Ginny had said was right: they had both been too stressed out lately, he was just taking out his frustrations and inability to deal with things on her, she wasn't making it any better by being halfway across the country, and the kids falling sick and finding a pre-school on he own was the icing on the top.

Taking in a deep breath, he tried to calm himself. His head was throbbing, and he could barely open his eyes without it seeming like an extreme effort. As though he didn't have enough problems, his migraine chose this perfect moment during his abject misery to settle down around his temples. Straightening up, he strode over to the kitchen isle, poured himself a glass of water, and drank it all. He then splashed some water on his face, revelling at its coolness, and gave himself a moment for rational thought.

Unable to reach a solution, he decided that he needed someone to tell him what the hell he was supposed to do to keep the pieces of his crumbling life from falling apart. He glanced towards the fireplace, and the only image that flashed through his mind was that of a smiling blond holding a teacup, and he knew what he had to do.

 **A/n: Before I knew it this chapter crossed the 6,000 mark and I tried to cut it down, but then decided to leave it as it is. Well, things escalated pretty quickly in that last section, and from a neutral point of view, I would say both Ginny and Harry are right in their own ways. What do you guys think?**

 **Almost at the 100 follows count, you guys! This is incredible. Y'all are amazing.**

 **Let me know what you thought of this chapter as always!**

 **Thank you for all the reviews, follows and favourites so far. They really make my day and inspire me to keep writing.**

 **Lots of love~**

 **Arty xx**


	21. 21 Lies: Temporary Relief

**A/n: For some reason I thought I'd already posted this and then realised I hadn't... my bad.**

 **Also, this story just hit hundred follows! THANK YOU FOR ALL THE LOVE! Y'all are amazing :')**

* * *

 **Chapter 21**

 **Temporary Relief**

* * *

 **[16 November 2011]**

 **2:03 PM**

He stumbled out of the fireplace and stood staring at nothing for a long moment till the nausea passed and the throbbing in his temples eased.

 _Not a good idea to Floo somewhere when you have a migraine,_ he thought to himself as he looked around Malfoy's office. He realised he'd arrived unannounced, but their first session was scheduled for later that day—he had just arrived a couple hours earlier than he was supposed to—so he was surprised to see the office empty. Wondering what to do, he made his way to the door and had just cracked it open when he heard voices from the corridor.

One of them was undoubtedly Malfoy's, and the other one was a woman's voice he didn't quite recognise but found vaguely familiar. Not wanting to eavesdrop on another private conversation, he was about to shut the door, but the woman suddenly raised her voice, startling him.

"You're _always_ like this! Why must you keep things from me when I only want to help you?"

She began to sob, and he winced, trying to shut the door as quietly as possible as he heard Malfoy say, "Astoria, please. You know that's not true. I _do_ tell you whatever I can, but considering the delicate nature of the work I do—"

"I don't care about your work! I gave up trying to pry anything out of you a long time ago. I realised all you needed was my silent support, and I have been giving you as much of it as humanly possible, but there's a limit to how much I can—"

She broke off, sobbing, and Harry, being the nosy person that he was, peeked out, concerned about what was happening. He imagined Malfoy had made a ton of women cry in all his years, but he never imagined the blond would have such a crestfallen look on his face as he pulled the brunette into a hug and closed his eyes. Harry reckoned she must be his wife, and started to pull back and shut the door, now embarrassed by his impoliteness, when the door let out a small squeak.

He froze, staring at the two outside wide-eyed to see if they had heard it, but Astoria's sobs had probably drowned out the sound because neither seemed to have noticed him. Heart hammering in his chest, he wondered what he was supposed to do. Maybe if he just left the door open and went and sat on the sofa and pretended like he'd never witnessed what had happened, he could get away with it. Just as he decided that was his best bet, Astoria pulled away with a sniff.

"I'm sorry for breaking down like that," she whispered in a shaky voice. "It's just that after what happened today with Mother…"

"I know," Malfoy said just as softly, smiling down at her in a heart-broken sort of way that moved something deep within Harry. _Who knew Malfoy could make such an expression._ "I know, and I'm sorry that I can't be with you, but I have a session with an important patient soon, and I can't—"

"Why?"

Both Malfoy and Harry winced at the accusing tone of her voice, and just as Harry let go of the door knob and took a step back, Malfoy said, "Because he needs me more, right now, Astoria. I know you're strong enough to handle this for just a little longer—"

"She's _your_ mother, Draco. If anybody needs you by their side, it's her."

"I know, but you know I can't just call off an appointment—"

"Not even for family?"

There was a heavy silence from the other side of the door, and Harry couldn't help but feel pity for the blond. After the huge fight with Ginny, he could sympathise with the sticky situation Malfoy was in. Taking another step back, he was just about to head towards the sofa when Astoria's trembling voice seeped in through the crack in the barely open door.

"Who is this person who's so important that you can't cancel on them?"

Frozen to the spot, he felt torn between the rising feeling of guilt that he was the reason Malfoy was having an argument with his wife, and the fact that it was none of his business what was going on on the other side of the door. But even as he inhaled deeply and closed his eyes, his mind instructing him to walk straight to the couch and pretend to be oblivious to everything that he had overheard, being the person that he was, he couldn't just let it go.

Regretting what he was about to do even as he turned towards the door and pulled it open, he still smiled widely and put on the most innocent look he could manage as he stuck his head out and said, "Malfoy? I thought I heard you out here. Sorry that I'm a little early, I wanted to—oh."

As surprised silver eyes looked up to meet his own emerald ones, he went through the process of putting on the act of someone who was embarrassed and awkward at having walked in on a sensitive situation and said, "Er, my bad. I'll uh…just…" he trailed off and pointed over his shoulder, feeling the heat creep up his neck and settle in his cheeks as Malfoy and his wife sprung apart and stared at him wide-eyed.

"Mr Potter," Malfoy said in a startled tone of voice before Harry could escape from the horrible situation he had gotten himself to. "Astoria," he continued, placing a hand on his wife's back and motioning to Harry with the other one. "I'm sure you know Harry Potter."

"Of—Of course," the brunette managed, smiling at him and holding herself in an elegant way despite what had just happened.

"This is my wife, Astoria," Malfoy introduced, as though they had just happened to bump into each other on the street.

"Pleasure," Harry said, nodding once. "Well, er, I know my appointment isn't for a few hours, so I could come back later…"

"Oh, no, please," Astoria said, waving her hand and looking graciously embarrassed. "I must apologise for making you wait." She turned to her husband and offered him a small smile as she placed a hand on his arm. "Can we expect you for dinner?"

Malfoy smiled and nodded, holding her for a moment before letting go. "Of course." He then turned to Harry and said, "I'll be with you in a moment, Mr Potter."

Finally having received his cue to leave, Harry hurriedly turned away and made his way to the sofa, but because he had left the door open, he heard Malfoy say, "Tell Mother I'm sorry and that I'll be with her for the rest of today and tomorrow."

Once Harry was settled down in his usual spot, he sat back and sighed, replaying what he had just witnessed. _So even Malfoy has problems,_ he thought, feeling foolish for assuming that just because the blond was a Mind Healer who solved other people's problems he wouldn't have problems of his own.

 _He's only human, after all._ He snorted at that. Had he not personally witnessed this new and improved version of Malfoy, he would never have sympathised with the man and gone so far as to humiliate himself in order to help the blond escape from a sticky situation.

 _That's not entirely true,_ a miniature image of Malfoy said in his head. _You saved me from burning to death even after I had done all those terrible things._

 _Well,_ he replied to the Malfoy in his head. _What can I say? That's the sort of person I am._

But even as he thought that, he could feel the gnawing tug in the back of his mind that confirmed that he had had much more selfish a reason to do what he had done. Somehow, after embarrassing himself for the sake of sparing Malfoy a complicated conversation, he felt a twisted sense of relief settle within him. As though saving what could have ended up as a terrible argument between two people he wasn't close to at all somehow acted as a form of repentance for what had happened with him and Ginny.

He looked up with a forced smile as Malfoy made his way to the sofa, looking embarrassed, but mostly relieved. "I really must apologise for that." The blond made a vague gesture with his hand, and Harry shook his head.

"It's quite alright, don't worry about it. Truth be told, I accidentally happened to overhear the last bit of your conversation and thought what you needed was someone like me, who has no sense of time or place, to embarrass myself."

Malfoy's eyebrows shot up at that, an amused smile tugging at his lips. "Why, Mr Potter, I see that you haven't changed in your self-sacrificing ways."

Harry smiled more freely, enjoying the light feeling that settled over him after everything that had happened in the previous hour. "What can I say? That's the sort of person I am."

Malfoy bowed his head. "And I am grateful for that."

Harry almost asked him if he was referring to just now or something else, but Malfoy had already brought over the tea and poured him a glass, as per usual.

"Just what I needed," Harry muttered as he took a long swig of the hot tea, revelling in the instant feeling of peace and calm from the Calming Draught mixed in that settled over him. He sighed, letting his eyes slip shut as he finished off the rest of the tea in silence, and Malfoy waited till he was done and had replaced the cup on its saucer to speak.

"Am I right to presume that you didn't arrive here so early just to help me out of my predicament?"

Harry's smile tightened, but he realised that now that he was calm, and his headache had settled down to a dull throb around his temples, he was more comfortable with discussing what had happened with Ginny after witnessing the argument between Malfoy and his wife. Somehow he felt like Malfoy would understand his situation better now than when he had come two days ago.

"Ah, well, something happened, and I reckoned you'd be the best person to come to."

Malfoy's expression sobered down at that, and he leaned forwards in his seat, looking solemn. "Would you like to talk about it?"

Harry cleared his throat and dropped his gaze to stare at his teacup as he said, "Well, the truth is that one of the main reasons for my stress over the past week is the fact that my wife is out of town."

Malfoy nodded but said nothing. Harry continued without looking up at the blond. "The thing is, Ginny and I have been rather stressed out about various things of late, which lead to us fighting and arguing a lot more than normal, and I realise that this may have been the reason why she didn't talk to me about a lot of things, because, well, I'm rather unreasonable when I'm angry, if I say so myself…" he trailed off and glanced up at Malfoy, who was listening intently, his gaze fixed on Harry. "She's been away for about a week and a half—she's covering the tournament this season—and her not being around when I needed her the most increased my stress by… a lot."

Now that he said it out loud, he realised how true it was. Ginny was always around to look after the kids and the house, to mediate between her parents and Harry, and handle most things outside of Harry's work that he had just taken everything she did for granted. The fact that she was always there when he came home after a tiring day with a hot cup of tea ready was one of the many things that he had never really taken the time to appreciate her for, of late. And it was precisely because Ginny dealt with all the minor stressors in their everyday lives that having her break down on him was something he didn't know how to handle.

"Mr Potter?"

Malfoy's voice drew him out of his thoughts and he shook his head, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat. "I suppose I was just being unreasonable. My nightmares coupled with my insomnia and the stress from work and the kids and everything just led me to take my frustrations out on her. We had a huge fight a little while ago, which is why I came here so early, because I had to clear my head. I said some things I didn't mean, and…"

He trailed off again, sitting back with a sigh. Malfoy was frowning, and Harry didn't take that as a good sign. "You said you've been having insomnia?"

Harry shrugged a shoulder. "I suppose it's not something very recent. Because of my nightmares, I used to go weeks on barely a few hours of sleep, before, but at that time I didn't have a lot of other things I had to deal with. Now that I think about it, I don't even remember when I started to sleep less and less. It just sort of happened."

Malfoy had a thoughtful expression on his face. "Tell me, have you been drinking Potions for Dreamless Sleep?"

Harry nodded. "For as long as I can remember. It sort of became a bad habit I couldn't get rid of, after a point of time, and I had to consciously stop resorting to it every time I had trouble sleeping."

Malfoy sat back and brought a hand to his mouth, looking lost in thought. After a moment he said, "I think your body has grown immune to the potion."

Harry blinked. "What?"

"Well, it only makes sense. This is one of the most major problems we Healers have while medicating any sort of potion or drug to our patients. The long-term effect is that the body's immune system gets so used to the medication that it stops having an effect on the body."

"Wait, so my body has immunised itself against the potion?" Harry asked, dumbfounded. "I never thought of that because I was always under the impression that it worked."

Malfoy shook his head. "I'm surprised nobody you know has told you this sooner."

"Well, I don't usually go around broadcasting the fact that I drink potions to put myself to sleep…" Harry admitted sheepishly.

The blond nodded. "I suppose that makes sense. Especially if it's something that's become a habit, you do it without even realising it and never think twice about whether or not it's actually working. The process of immunisation towards a medication is very slow and gradual, which is why you wouldn't have noticed its ineffectiveness, since it happened over a long period of time. It's not something sudden that you can instantly take note of due to a drastic change."

"That… makes a lot of sense," Harry said thoughtfully. "Then all the times I've drunk it, it never actually worked but I just _thought_ it did?"

"It's called the Placebo Effect." Malfoy pointed at the teacup. "The effects of the Calming Draught. Can you still feel it?"

Harry looked down at himself. He sat forwards, looked around, moved his hands and legs. "I feel… fine. I don't feel any different than before, just that I'm calmer, now."

Malfoy nodded. "This dose was stronger than the usual one because I noticed the last time around that the milder dosage wasn't really working as well as it was supposed to. Now that the initial, instantaneous effects of the potion are starting to wear off, you don't feel any different from before. But a dose as strong as this, if administered on someone who doesn't drink the draught as often, would have a more powerful effect on them—so much so that they would feel sluggish and lethargic rather than just calm." He shifted forwards again. "Tell me, do you feel alert? Like you could focus on several hours worth of paperwork?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. I had a bad headache when I arrived, but it's sort of just thrumming in the back of my head, now."

Malfoy snapped his fingers and his parchment and quill zoomed over and stood at attention next to him. "Don't worry, I'm only taking down the underlying medical factors that could have something to do with your nightmares and your insomnia. These headaches of yours—how often to you get them?"

Harry had to think about that for a moment. "I think they're mostly stress headaches. Or headaches from lack of sleep or not having eaten—the usual stuff."

Malfoy glanced towards the quill and it picked up its pace as it zoomed back and forth across the parchment. He then flicked his wand as he asked, "Can you tell me the area of their origin?"

"Origin?"

Malfoy stood up and came around the table to stand before Harry. "May I?"

Harry hesitated for a moment before he nodded. He shut his eyes as Malfoy reached up and carefully took off his glasses. He gripped the armrests tight, his heart beginning to race as Malfoy pressed his fingertips against Harry's temples. His skin was cool and soothing against Harry's flushed face, but he still stiffened at the touch.

Malfoy began to apply pressure as he said, "Tell me when to stop," gradually increasing it till Harry said, "Stop" in a hoarse voice.

The blond then moved his hands so that he had his thumbs pressed against Harry's temples and had his fingers splayed across the sides of his head, applying pressure on different spots along the back. "Tell me when to stop," he said again as he began to massage the pressure points.

Harry swallowed thickly, his heart hammering a rhythm in his chest. Malfoy was so close that he could smell the cologne the man was wearing. It was a mild scent that reminded Harry of pine trees in the winter, and he had to admit that it was a very pleasing fragrance.

Maybe he should ask Malfoy where he got it…

He inhaled deeply, enjoying the pressure along his temples and the back of his head, and the dull throbbing in his head continued to recede even as Malfoy proceeded with his ministrations. He could feel the cool silk of the blond's robes gently caress the back of his fingers, making him relax his grip on the armrest.

His mind blank, he focused all his senses on the circular movements of Malfoy's fingertips, the feel of the cool silk against his skin, and the mild scent of the blond's cologne mixed in with the soothing air-freshener in the room. After what seemed like an inordinately long time, the pressure disappeared, leaving Harry feeling a sense of loss as Malfoy moved away, the silk robes brushing against Harry's fingertips as he flexed his fingers.

"How do you feel now?"

Malfoy's voice was deep and soothing, and Harry didn't want to open his eyes. He just wanted to lean back against the cool leather of the armchair and fall asleep. He was tired… so, so tired, and sleep seemed like the most wonderful solution to all of his problems.

"Mr Potter?" Malfoy calling his name snapped him out of his reverie, and he slowly forced his eyes open. The blond was holding Harry's glasses out for him, and he took them, placing them on the bridge of his nose as he inhaled deeply.

"How do you feel?" Malfoy asked again as he returned to his seat.

Harry nodded, not wanting to speak, but mumbled a "Great" simply to please the other man.

"I thought as much," Malfoy said. "You've been taking on an unnecessary amount of stress lately, and I think what you need is a good, relaxing massage."

"A massage?" Harry asked, his voice still hoarse.

"Yes. Acupressure therapy is one of the most foolproof ways to de-stress one's body, I've come to find. A good massage session will allow you to relax completely. Tell me, are you feeling sleepy right now?"

Harry nodded, unfocusing his gaze as he stared at Malfoy. He felt as though a warm haze was surrounding him, and he never wanted to get out of its gentle caress. When he re-focused his gaze, Malfoy was smiling. His usually grey eyes were sparkling silver, and there was a kind of gentleness to his smile that made Harry wonder how many women he had swept off their feet with it.

"For this session," the blond was saying, "I recommend that you go see Mr Hussain on the first floor for an acupressure treatment session. I think you'll find that you'll be able to fall asleep much easier after that."

Harry cleared his throat and forced himself out of his daze. "Did you increase that lavender scent earlier?" he asked, motioning vaguely.

Malfoy only smiled in response as he rose to his feet. "I shall accompany you to Mr Hussain. He usually only accepts people with appointments, but I'm sure an exception can be made."

As they made their way to the door, Harry couldn't help but mutter, "Is it really that easy?" to which Malfoy replied with the telltale sign of a smirk: "It really is."

* * *

 **4:16 PM**

Mr Hussain turned out to be a burly wizard of Arabic descent who used to be a Beater in some small-town European Quidditch team Harry hadn't heard of before he decided to follow his family's legacy and came to England in search of a job that would need his services. He was a very jovial, easy-going man, and his friendly attitude had helped Harry out of his initial embarrassment at receiving a full-body massage from another male.

About an hour later, when he had awoken with a start, lying facedown on the massage table, having fallen asleep during the course of the massage, Mr Hussain had insisted that he allow himself to relax completely and let go, leading to one of the best naps he had ever taken in his life.

Once he had awoken, Mr Hussain had ushered him into the adjoining bathroom where he underwent something called "steam therapy", which was basically him sitting in a sauna-like room. When he had stepped out after a hot bath and changed back into his clothes, he had never felt so relaxed and refreshed ever before.

His argument with Ginny and everything else long forgotten, the only thing he really wanted to do was collapse on his bed and sleep the rest of the afternoon away.

When he said as much to Malfoy, the blond agreed. "That would be the best course of action, for now. But, since we didn't really get much done today, would it be alright for you to come back tomorrow?"

"Well, since I ditched work today, I might be later than usual. Is that alright?"

Malfoy nodded. "Of course. If tomorrow isn't possible, then the day after would be fine, but tomorrow would be preferable, even if it's just for a half hour or so."

"Sounds great. Thanks again," he said as he held a hand out. "And I'm sorry for keeping you from your family."

Malfoy smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes, and Harry could tell he wasn't entirely looking forward to returning home. _I wonder what problems he has…_

"Please, don't be," the blond said as he took Harry's outstretched hand and shook it once. "Like I told Astoria, you are my priority. My family's going to be there whenever I get back. Shall I leave the Floo open for you?"

"If it isn't too inconvenient," Harry replied as he grabbed a fistful of the shimmering, green powder and ducked under the mantle. "Thanks again."

"No problem."

He exchanged a smile with the other man as the flames engulfed him, and he shut his eyes, thoughts of home and his warm bed relaxing him.

* * *

 **7:33 PM**

He was jerked awake by a hand shaking his shoulder insistently.

"What?" he barked, blinking through the thickness of sleep. He fumbled for his glasses before putting them on and squinting up at a scowling Ron. "Ron? What's going on?"

"What d'you mean what's going on, mate?" the ginger snapped, throwing his hands in the air. "I _told_ you I was bringing the kids home later this evening, and we've been trying to Fire-call you since an hour ago, to get you to open the Floo. I Apparated over thinking you weren't home, and here I find you fast asleep!"

"Shite," he said as he pulled off the covers and got out of bed. "I'm so sorry, I was just really tired and fell asleep. I must've slept through the alarm."

Ron sighed, running a hand through his hair, and the two made their way downstairs to the living room. Harry grabbed a pinch of Floo powder and tossed it into the fireplace as he got on his knees and said, "Ron and Hermione's house."

The coals crackled and hissed, and Hermione's face appeared in the embers. "Harry!" she said, the worry clear in her voice. "Thank goodness you're alright. You had us worried."

"Sorry 'bout that, I ended up falling asleep," he apologised.

"Oh, that's great! Do you feel better?" she asked, to which Ron said, "Hermione!" from behind him. "Oh, hush, Ronald. Anyway, can you open up the Floo? The kids are _dying_ to see you."

He nodded and pulled back. Rising to his feet, he tapped his wand against the side of the fireplace twice and stepped back. After a moment, green flames erupted, and James stumbled out, looking a bit pale.

"Alright?" he asked his son as James stepped towards him and nodded.

The flames shot up again, and Hermione stepped out this time with Albus and Lily clinging onto her on either side. They dashed out of the fireplace and jumped towards Harry, and he caught them with a laugh as they wrapped their arms around him and hugged him tight.

"Did you really miss me that much?" he asked as he stroked Lily's head, but the boys had already taken off towards their rooms, shouting excitedly.

"Well," Hermione said as she hugged Lily and motioned towards her husband, "as much as Ron and I would like to spend the evening here, we promised Arthur we'd have dinner with them, so…"

"Right." Harry hugged her briefly and clapped Ron on the shoulder. "Thanks again."

"So you'll babysit Rosie and Hugh the weekend after this, right?" Ron asked with a grin, to which both Hermione and Harry rolled their eyes.

"And let you waste away in front of the television all day long? I'm afraid not," Hermione said as she stepped back into fireplace. "Bye, Harry!"

"Bye," he called as the flamed enveloped her. Ron nodded towards him and followed after his wife, leaving Harry alone with his daughter.

"Hey, Lils," He said as they made their way to the kitchen isle. "What do you say about visiting your mummy and surprising her?"

Lily brightened up immediately, bouncing on the spot. "Really?"

He smiled as he placed four plates on the counter and opened the fridge. "Sure, why not? Al said he wanted to see her, too, and since she's not gonna be back for another week, what say we go this weekend and surprise her?"

"Yay!" Lily exclaimed as she came around the counter and hugged him. "I'll go tell Al and Jamie!"

"You do that," he said, but she was already racing across the room, screaming her brothers' names.

Smiling, he waved his wand at the last bit of mashed potato and the casserole that was left from what he had bought for lunch, listening to his children's excited shouts from upstairs as they discussed the surprise visit to see their mother.

Although he had just come up with the thought of surprising her after seeing his kids, he had more ulterior motives for it: he knew apologising on the phone wouldn't do any good after their argument, and although he wanted to see Ginny as soon as possible, he knew suddenly making an appearance while she was working and still upset from their fight wasn't exactly the best of ideas. So, he decided that waiting for her to calm down and finish off her work would be the best course of action. He knew she would be done by Friday, since she originally was supposed to have come home on Saturday, so Saturday morning seemed like a good idea.

He hummed a little tune as he scooped up the mash and served it onto one of the plates, feeling oddly relaxed despite everything that had happened that day. Malfoy had been right: the massage and the well-deserved nap had really refreshed him and calmed him down, allowing him to see everything in perspective.

"Kids, dinner!" he called as he Levitated the plates over to the table, smiling as the trio raced into the room, exclaiming happily.

It was a long-awaited meal with his family, and although his wife was missing, he couldn't help but feel grateful and glad for their company.

* * *

 **A/n: In case any of y'all are wondering: my mum is a counsellor, so all of the stuff I'm using in this story is based on the research I've done by talking to her, so, yeah. That's all I wanted to say.**

 **Let me know what you think by leaving a review, as always!**

 **Thanks for reading, lovelies.**

 **Lots of love~**

 **Arty xx**


	22. 22 Lies: The Calm Before The Storm

**Chapter 22**

 **The Calm Before the Storm**

* * *

 **[17 November 2011]**

 **2:20 PM**

" _Daad,_ when're we going to Wheezeleys'?"

Harry sighed and tightened his grip on Lily's hand as they made their way down Diagon Alley. He had managed to leave work early because it had turned out to be a rather slow day, and his presence wasn't actually required. Since he had the time, he decided that he would bring his kids to Diagon for the afternoon and drop off the vase in his vault before his appointment with Malfoy.

He shot his oldest son a look as he said, "James, I've already told you: we're going to Gringotts first to drop off a package and _then_ we'll go to Wheezeleys'."

"But why do _we_ have to come along?" James whined as he walked backwards a little ahead of his siblings and Harry, hands folded behind his head.

"For the last time," Harry replied, trying not to snap, "your uncle's busy right now, so he can't baby-sit all three of you."

James crossed his arms and sulked. "We don't _need_ to be baby-sitted."

"Yeah," Albus piped up from next to Harry. "We're not babies, Dad."

"Lily's a big girl now," Lily added, waving her doll.

"Lils, what's Mummy said about referring to yourself in third person?" Harry asked as he manoeuvred his kids around the throng of wizards gathered in front of Quality Quidditch Supplies, watching the live screening of the semi-finals.

"But I'm only one person?" Lily answered, looking up at him with wide brown eyes.

He smiled and pinched her cheek. "That's right. And that's why you don't say your own name when you're talking about yourself."

"Why?"

"Because _normal_ people don't do that," James said before Harry had the chance to answer. "You're a _freak,_ Lily!"

" _Daddy!"_ Lily whined as James laughed evilly. Albus giggled, but the moment Harry and Lily turned to look at him, he instantly sobered down and blinked at them with an innocent expression.

"James," Harry warned, reaching over to grab him by the arm and swivel him around so he wouldn't trip and fall as they reached Gringotts. "Didn't you forget to say something else to your sister?"

"Did not," James sang as he skipped up the stairs.

"James!"

"Sorry, not sorry!" the boy yelled with a grin as he raced to the entrance and stood in front of it with a wide grin.

As they reached him, Lily kicked him in the shin and said, "Sorry, not sorry!" Harry rolled his eyes as his son yelped and grabbed his leg, shrieking in pain. Albus snickered and whispered, "Serves you right," smiling innocently up at Harry when he looked down at him with raised eyebrows. The three then made their way inside with a limping and grumbling James in tow, but the moment they reached the two goblin sentries standing outside the main hall, all three children simmered down.

"Dad, can we wait here, please?" James whispered, looking at one of the goblins with a terrified expression.

Harry saw that Lily was close to tears and Albus was white as a sheet, so he changed direction and made a beeline to the waiting area, where he deposited his kids. Holding up a finger, he looked at each wide-eyed child and said, "You know what's going to happen if you wander off, don't you?"

They nodded fervently, and Harry smiled as James reached for his siblings' hands and squeezed them. "Good. Jamie, I trust that you'll keep an eye on your brother and sister?"

James nodded, and Harry patted him on the head. As he turned around and made his way back to the entrance he heard James say, "No, they won't eat you if you don't go near them."

 _Well, at least they're afraid of something,_ he thought to himself with a smile as he pulled out a small box from his pocket and enlarged it. He nodded to the two sentries as he passed by them and made his way to a free counter. He placed the box on it and smiled up at the goblin squinting down at him with a frown. "Name?"

"Harry Potter."

"Vault?"

"521."

"Purpose?"

"Deposit."

He pointed his wand at the box and the cardboard dissolved to reveal the vase that had brought him so much misery. The goblin's eyes widened at the sight of it and he took a moment to examine the vase from all angles, nodding and making sounds of appreciation every now and again, before turning his attention back at Harry.

"Any others?"

Harry nodded. "Withdrawal from vault 687."

"Keys?"

Harry reached into his breast pocket and pulled out two small keys. One was bronze and the other was silver. He held them out to the goblin. "Here you go."

The goblin took the keys, eyed them for a moment to make sure they were real, and handed them back to Harry. He then picked up his quill and wrote down something before jumping down from his stool and looking up at Harry.

"Follow me, please."

Harry picked up the vase, and they made their way down the hall and off towards one of the tunnels that led down to the tracks. They passed by a tall, lanky, tired-looking wizard who was following a goblin down a different tunnel as they exited the main hall. The man tipped his hat at Harry, and the latter nodded back with a smile.

As they reached the little carts, the goblin motioned to one and said, "Get in, please." Harry stepped in and barely had time to clutch the handlebars tight before the cart zoomed off down the winding tracks and finally halted abruptly before a vault.

"Vault 521. Get out, please."

They climbed out of the cart and made their way to the vault. As they reached it, the goblin held out a hand and said, "Key, please."

Harry handed over the silver key and watched with the usual fascination as the goblin placed it in the keyhole and turned it, causing the various locks and gears to groan and click before the door swung open with a grinding sound.

"Vase, please," the goblin said as they entered the vault. Harry dutifully handed over the vase and watched as the goblin went over to the farthest wall and placed it on the stone ledge, beside the other artefacts Harry had collected over the years. The goblin then touched the ledge, and the stone above and below the vase warped itself to encase the vase. He tapped the stone cube twice, and it cracked and crumbled away to reveal a transparent glass-like encasement beneath.

"Would you like to retrieve anything?" the goblin asked Harry, and after the latter shook his head no, they exited the vault. The goblin locked it, handed the key to Harry, and they got into the cart.

It took a few more seconds to reach the next vault, and after the same process, Harry stepped in, walked to the neatly piled galleons at the back, picked up one of the bags placed by the wall, and filled it with as much money as he needed. They then left the vault, zoomed down the tracks, made their way up the dimly lit tunnels, and returned to the main hall. Harry thanked the goblin and walked to the entrance area, where he found that his kids had made a new friend. He watched as James laughed at something the blond boy had said, and Harry wondered why he felt as though he had seen him somewhere before.

Albus was the first to notice him. "Dad!" He ran up to him and tugged on his hand excitedly. "Come meet Danny!"

"Hullo," Harry said with a smile as he looked down at the messy mop of golden curls under a lopsided hat and the sparkling blue eyes. The boy's overcoat seemed to be a size too large for him, but it may have also been because he was on the skinnier side.

"Good afternoon!" the boy greeted, tipping his hat. "How do you do, sir?"

Lily giggled, and James slapped Danny on the back before saying. "Danny's uncle's some big-shot wizard from Scotland so this fellow's all prim and proper. His uncle's inside, too. Did you meet him?"

"'fraid not," Harry replied. He was trying to figure out where he had seen this boy, because there was something vaguely familiar about his wild curls and his striking blue eyes, but he couldn't be sure where he had met a boy who was so properly dressed and as well-mannered. "Say—Danny, is it?"

"Yessir."

"Have we perhaps met before?"

The boy shook his head. He stared at the floor and refused to meet Harry's eyes, for some reason. "No, sir. I don't think so."

"Is that right?" Deciding that he might have him mistaken for someone else, Harry asked, "Do you think your uncle will be long?"

"I'm not quite sure, but please, don't let me keep you."

He swept his hand in a sort of lofty gesture, making Harry cock an eyebrow. "Well, alright, then. Come along, kids."

"Bye, Danny!" the trio chorused. As they made their way out of Gringotts, Harry glanced back at the boy, a persistent nagging in the back of his mind telling him that he was overlooking something important.

* * *

 **5:13 PM**

"Jamie, don't go breaking anything, alright?" Harry called as he pulled on his coat.

"Alright," James called back as he fiddled with one of George's latest creations. It was still a prototype, which was why the kids were allowed to play with them.

George generally let his and his siblings' children use some of the less dangerous toys before the final products were sold just to see their reactions and get their opinions on what they liked or disliked, or what could be added or removed. He actually used these inputs and made changes, because with the rather wide age-range of the next generation Potter-Weasley children, it really helped him and Ron formulate sales plans and whatnot, especially now that they were about to establish a second shop in Hogsmeade.

"Sure you're alright with me leaving them here for an hour or two?" he muttered to Ron as the latter came up to him.

"Oh, don't worry 'bout it. I leave Rosie and Hugh up here all the time while I'm tending the shop. It would've been bad if we hadn't installed the locks on the study, but since we have, there's nothing to worry about."

"Still can't believe George finally succeeded in persuading old man Zonko to sell him the shop after all these years," Harry said as they made their way downstairs.

"It's always been their dream, y'know." Ron shook his head, a wry smile on his face. "Fred must be throwing a party and wreaking havoc wherever he is."

"Definitely." Harry clapped Ron on the shoulder. "So, he's really giving this shop to you once he's done renovating that one?"

Ron nodded, beaming. "Yeah. We've already discussed the logistics and everything. George wants to add two more floors to Zonko's and convert the topmost into a proper lab. He wants to add another floor to this one, too, but I keep telling him that two floors is already enough."

"It's three, counting the flat." Harry shivered as the cold breeze nipped at his face when he stepped out. "Anyway, I'll be back before suppertime."

"Right."

Harry waved and Apparated, arriving just within the threshold of Antares. He knew Malfoy had left the Floo open for him, but he didn't have time to go home, so he had decided to take the longer way there. Pressing his hair down over his forehead so it hid his scar, he pulled the collar of his coat higher and made his way to the lifts. There weren't as many people as usual, and as he stepped off on the second floor, he breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the empty hallways.

It didn't take him as long as the first time to find Malfoy's office, but the maze of corridors were still confusing and he almost lost his way a few times. He knocked on the door three times and waited to hear the familiar voice giving him permission to enter before he pushed it open and stepped in.

"Oh, Mr Potter." Malfoy rose from his seat and came around his desk. "I didn't expect you to come through the door."

"I came straight from Diagon, so I couldn't use the Floo," Harry replied as he took off his coat and draped it along the back of his usual armchair.

"So, how are you today?" Malfoy asked as he poured Harry tea.

"Fantastic, thanks." He took the teacup and sipped, enjoying the warmth and mild flavour. "You were right. Yesterday's massage really helped. I can't remember the last time I slept so soundly."

Malfoy smiled, and Harry couldn't help but notice the faint dimple he got in one cheek sometimes. "That's good to hear. I was hoping that you would be more refreshed so we could take our session forward."

"Right." Harry sat up, anticipation thrumming through him. Malfoy picked up a slim pair of reading glasses from the table and placed them on the edge of his nose. "Before we start, I have to ask as a formality: how was your day?"

"It was great." Harry nodded. "There wasn't too much work today so I could leave at lunch time. I took the kids to Diagon and finally deposited the vase in Gringotts. So relieved now that that's out of my hair."

"Sounds like you had a fairly good day," Malfoy said. "Good, good. And how about your wife? Have you spoken to her after…" he trailed off, making a vague motion with his hand, and Harry laughed nervously.

"Ah, no. I'm actually planning on going to see her tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"Right. I was going to take the kids on Saturday, but I spoke to Jones—the Harpies' captain—and she said that they're leaving early Saturday morning, so Friday evening would be a better idea."

Malfoy nodded, the usual thoughtful expression on her face. "Isn't your brother-in-law's wife also on the team?"

"Angelina? Yeah. The kids want to surprise their aunt as well." He shook his head with a smile. "They're very excited."

"I can imagine." Malfoy placed his teacup back on its saucer. "So, what would you like to talk about today?"

"Er," Harry said, suddenly feeling awkward. "Well, I didn't get any nightmares last night thanks to the massage, so…"

Malfoy nodded, an endearing sort of smile on his face. "That's good. Would you like to talk about your other nightmares?"

"To be honest, I don't really remember them," Harry admitted. "They're usually clear for a minute or two after they wake me up, then they just sort of fade away."

Malfoy nodded again. "So you can't recollect any of your nightmares at all?"

Harry shrugged and scratched his ear. "Well, I do remember certain snippets from different ones. I've figured out that they're generally related to things I'm stressed out about."

"Yes, that's pretty much how dreams and nightmares work. They're your subconscious' way of trying to find clarity with regards to whatever is preoccupying you."

"Right. I can tell you that most, if not all, of them are related to the war and Voldemort in some way or the other. I think it's only the most recent ones that are sort of diverging from the usual ones," Harry said.

"Diverging in what way?" Malfoy asked.

"Well," he struggled for a moment as he tried to explain himself, "I suppose I could give you an example. Like, when I came here for the second time, very early in the morning, it was right after a nightmare. I remember it because I got a similar one when I passed out in your office a couple hours later."

Malfoy made a face. "I could see that you were panicking and that my presence was only agitating you more, so I added an extra dose of calming draught in the water. I honestly didn't expect you to drink so much of it that it would knock you out."

Harry mentally slapped his forehead. So _that's_ what had happened. Well, it wasn't entirely his fault for imagining that Malfoy had drugged him, considering the situation and all, but now it made more sense. _I probably imagined him smirking at me before I lost consciousness, too._

"Yeah, well, anyway," he said awkwardly. "I had a rather… interesting encounter the previous evening, before meeting with Camilla, and that was probably what spurred that particular nightmare."

"Would you like to elaborate on this encounter?" Malfoy asked, leaning forwards, intense interest shining in his light eyes.

Harry took a deep breath and nodded. "I met this boy. I don't know who he was, and it was purely by accident. He ran into me in the process of escaping a bakery after stealing some bread." He shook his head. "Being the person that I am, I had to look into it, so I went in search of the boy and found that he looked like someone who barely survived each day. I couldn't really do very much for him since he seemed to be a Muggle child, so I ended up giving him money and telling him not to steal again. I suppose it reminded me of—" he broke off, his voice suddenly failing him, a lump having formed in his throat.

Images of his childhood before Hogwarts flashed through his mind, but now it was all much worse because the him from his past was juxtaposed over the boy he had seen, and coupled with the nightmare… he shuddered, feeling shaken up.

"Are you alright?"

He cleared his throat and nodded, offering Malfoy a tight smile as he reached forward and put down his nearly empty cup of tea. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."

"We don't have to talk about this right now," Malfoy said as he rose to his feet. "Would you like to take a walk?"

Harry blinked. "What?"

"A walk." Malfoy held two fingers upside down and made a back-and-forth motion to imitate walking.

"Er," Harry said, thoroughly unsure of what was going on in the blond's mind. "Where to?"

Malfoy shrugged. "There's enough corridors in this building for us to explore, I would think. I'm quite sure that there are a few I have yet to find. Would you like to accompany me?"

The corners of Harry's lips quirked up in a wry smile and he rose to his feet. "You are a very mysterious man, Malfoy," he commented. Malfoy's eyes shimmered in response, the familiar smirk tugging at the edges of his mouth as they walked to the door.

"That I shan't deny."

* * *

 **6:00 PM**

"So," the blond said as they turned another corner. "Let's see…" he paused as he thought for a moment. "Ah, that's right. You said you deposited a vase in Gringotts today?"

"Yeah."

"Is this the same vase that you've mentioned before?"

Harry nodded. "The one and only."

"So you've decided what you're going to do with it?"

He shrugged. "Not really. My immediate aim was to get it out of the Ministry so the higher-ups would quit chewing my brain, but beyond that… not really."

"I see."

He glanced sideways at the blond, sensing that he had something to say. "What?"

Malfoy bowed his head. "I have an idea, if you would like to hear it."

Harry made a little motion with his hand. "Please."

"Well, a historian friend of mine who has accumulated quite a few artefacts and relics over the past decade during his travels around the world is holding an auction this Sunday. He wants to build a Ministry-approved research facility in London, and he's auctioning the artefacts in order to get the funds required for the establishment." Malfoy glanced towards Harry. "If you would like, I could call in a favour and have the vase put up in the auction. But, of course, that depends completely on the vase itself and whether or not my friend deems it worthy enough to be sold in his auction. He's rather picky when it comes to stuff like this."

Harry stared at Malfoy wide-eyed. "Why in Godric's name would you go so far for my sake?"

Malfoy shrugged, an unreadable expression on his face. "That vase is obviously a source of distress for you, and since it's my job to facilitate you relieving yourself of stressful matters, I don't think it's all that great a deal."

"Do you go out of your way for _all_ your clients?" Harry asked, unable to contain his curiosity.

The blond chuckled. "I don't actually make it a habit. Besides, you're my first client in a very long time. I generally just supervise my staff, among other things."

 _I remember Camilla mentioning something similar._ "Why don't you take any clients?"

Again, the same unreadable expression and that calm smile of his adorned his face as Malfoy answered. "For various reasons."

Harry eyed him sideways, but Malfoy was excellent at playing it cool. "Isn't it a bit too late, now? If the auction is in two days."

"It is," the man agreed, "but, like I said, if my friend likes your vase, you're not going to have a problem."

"You make it sound a little too easy," Harry muttered, to which the blond chuckled.

"I have friends in many places, Potter. All you have to do is tell me that you want the vase out of your hair once and for all, and it will be done."

Harry didn't answer as he thought about it. He deliberated the pros and cons as they rounded a corner, and he finally asked, "Who's this friend of yours?"

Malfoy's smile widened, for some reason, and Harry could see that his eyes were glittering, as though he had expected Harry to ask that question. _Sometimes he still infuriates me,_ he thought to himself as he waited for the blond to answer.

"I suppose you remember Blaise Zabini?"

Harry snorted. "Zabini's a historian? I would've never thought it a possibility way back when."

"Well, did you expect me to be a Mind Healer?"

"Hell no," he scoffed. Malfoy laughed in an unreserved manner that surprised Harry, and he couldn't help but stare. _I don't think I have ever seen him laugh before… all he did was sneer, jeer, smirk and frown. This is somehow oddly refreshing._

The blond caught him looking and eyed him with a curious expression. "Have I got something on my face?"

"Yeah," Harry said, turning to look straight ahead. "A smile."

Malfoy laughed again, and Harry couldn't help but think that it was very pleasing to the ear. The blond sounded like a young boy who couldn't contain his happiness. It reminded Harry of when Albus laughed uncontrollably. It was just such a happy sound.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence as they continued down the maze of corridors, the peace and solitude only broken by Malfoy's explanations of what certain rooms contained. After a time, Harry mused, "I'm still finding it hard to believe that the current you and the you from two decades ago are the same person."

He heard the blond chuckle softly before saying, "People change, I suppose."

Harry snorted at that. "I'll say."

"I couldn't have been _all_ that bad," Malfoy said after a moment.

"Right. I suppose you would think so. Remember the time when Hermione punched you in the nose?"

Malfoy grimaced and touched his nose. "That was the first and last time anybody has _ever_ hit me."

"I still think you deserved it, considering what a right git you were," Harry said.

Malfoy had a solemn expression on his face as he replied seriously, "I was sure my nose was broken and needed to be reshaped because of how hard she hit me."

Harry laughed, feeling a fluttering sensation bloom within him. Somehow, speaking to Malfoy so freely like this, as though they were friends, made him feel an odd sense of relief blossom from the depths of his soul. As though the very act of simply walking nowhere and chatting with him was a process of healing in itself.

 _Maybe it is._

They walked for a little longer, their conversations never lasting more than a few sentences, but it still made Harry feel oddly comforted. For some reason, he liked the idea of being friends with the Malfoy beside him. He was almost like an entirely different person, the sort of person Harry got along with very well, and Harry felt as though he had to keep reminding himself that the blond on his left was the same person who had made his life a living hell for most of his teenage years. But, somehow, the comparisons never got very far. It seemed as though it no longer mattered to Harry that Draco Malfoy, the pleasant Mind Healer, had once been his nemesis, whom he had despised vehemently.

He could accept the man for the person that he was now without being constrained by the past, and that, to Harry was one of the surest signs that he was making progress and was finally starting to move forwards and let go.

* * *

 **6:33 PM**

"Right, then," Malfoy said as they returned to his office and took their respective seats. "Where were we?" He smoothed down his robes and waited for a moment before saying, "Would you like to tell me about what you have planned for tomorrow?"

Harry sat back in his seat and inhaled deeply before answering. "Well, although the Harpies lost before the semis, they're still going to stay back for the after-party and leave on Saturday morning as planned. Ginny's supposed to leave at the same time, but she's not returning home with them. She's got some more work to take care of, apparently, but I'm planning to catch her right after the finals tomorrow afternoon and spend the evening with her before she leaves."

"Sounds like a plan," Malfoy said with a smile.

"Yeah. The kids want to take the train since neither Lily nor Al have ever been on one, so I plan to leave at noon. We should reach just before the match ends."

Malfoy nodded as Harry finished speaking, and they sat in silence for a moment before Harry said, "So, I've been thinking about the auction…"

The blond sat up a little straighter at that, and Harry continued. "Will it be alright if I were to come along, too?" When Malfoy's eyes widened in the slightest, Harry quickly said, "Just to see who ends up with the vase. I mean, I don't want just anybody to get it, you know?"

"Believe me when I say that Blaise would never invite someone that you wouldn't approve of. Like I said, he's a stickler for such things."

"Oh."

Harry's shoulders slumped slightly, and Malfoy must have noticed because he said, "But, I'm sure it would be alright if you were to attend it as my plus one."

He shook his head and held his hands up at that. "Oh, no, please. I don't want to put you in a spot with your wife again. I don't think she'd be too happy if you were to tell her that she can't go because of me."

An amused smirk spread across Malfoy's face as he said, "Worry not, because Astoria won't be coming. She's hosting a dinner party on the same night with her sister. I was going to take Camilla, but she really isn't very fond of auctions and the like. She finds them rather distasteful and tedious—something about everyone having to put on airs and fake sophistication. So you really don't have to worry about making me choose you over my wife."

"Oh." Harry cleared his throat, embarrassed. "Right. Er… well, then, I graciously accept your invitation."

Malfoy's eyes were wide and shimmering, and he looked as though he was trying very hard to contain his laughter. "I suppose I may as well invite you, seeing as you've already agreed to come."

Harry went red in the face, his cheeks burning, and he tried very hard to not lose his composure. "Thanks. I'm, uh, is Zabini going to be alright with that?"

The blond shrugged a shoulder. "I suppose he's not going to be too pleased when I tell him that he's going to have to change Camilla's name on all the cards to yours at the very last moment."

"Alright, you know what? Maybe I won't go after all," Harry said, feeling the intense need to disappear into a hole. He knew Malfoy was only having a bit of fun, and he knew he was being childish, but he supposed he wasn't completely over the fact that the blond used to be a bully, and he really didn't fancy being humiliated by the man all over again. "I mean, I'm already troubling you enough with the vase, I really don't want to have to give him more last minute work to do."

Malfoy bowed his head and chuckled. When he looked back up, his smile was the same formal, professional one Harry was used to seeing, but his eyes were still glittering with mirth. "I'm sorry. I was only pulling your leg. I would be delighted to have your company for the evening."

Harry cleared his throat and nodded, trying not to look as mortified as he felt, and Malfoy was kind enough to allow him the chance to spare himself of any more embarrassment by changing the topic. "Alright, now that we've settled that—I would like to give you a simple task for you to complete before our next session."

"Oh. Fantastic." He sat up straight, anticipation replacing his earlier awkwardness. He watched as Malfoy rose and walked to his desk. The blond rummaged around for a bit before finding a slim folder and bringing it over to Harry. "What's this?" he asked as he took the file from Malfoy.

"That contains the instructions for your task plus extra sheets for you to write down whatever is required," Malfoy replied, pointing at the folder. "We generally provide an Anti-Cheating Quill to some of the clients just to encourage them to be truthful, although they don't necessarily have to use it, but I don't think that's needed in your case."

Harry was about to open the folder when Malfoy placed his hand atop his. He looked up at the blond, feeling a jolt run down his spine from how cold the other man's fingers were, and Malfoy smiled down at him. "I recommend that you read this when you're by yourself and can devote enough time and attention to it. It isn't something you can finish in one sitting, but I would suggest that you carry one of the sheets provided around with you so that you can pen down your thoughts whenever they come to you."

He looked down at the folder, and Malfoy's hand on his, and just as he was wondering if he should pull his arm away, the blond stepped back and placed his hands behind his back. "Well, I would say we've accomplished quite a bit today. You don't have to complete the tasks to their entirety by the next session, but it would make our sessions go by a little faster if you could finish as much as possible. Just don't rush or force yourself to come up with answers. Although I recommend that you answer each of the questions, if you can't, we can always work on them the following session."

Harry nodded and rose to his feet. He wanted to go home right away and get down to business, but he knew it wouldn't be possible until later that night, after the kids were asleep, so he decided to exercise his willpower to prevent him from taking a peek inside the folder. As though able to read his mind, Malfoy gave him a knowing smile, but didn't say anything.

"Right, then." Harry held out his hand, and Malfoy shook it once. "Thanks for today. So, I'll see you…?"

"Do you know the Corinthia Hotel in London?" the blond asked.

"I've never been there, but I've heard of it."

"The auction's happening in their ballroom. It starts at nine, but I suppose we'll have to be there around four or earlier to get stuff with your vase sorted out. Is that alright?"

Harry nodded. "Sounds like it's going to be an interesting experience. I've never really sold anything in an auction before. So I'll see you there at, say, three o' clock?"

Malfoy smiled. "Three o' clock sounds fine. I hope your surprise trip to see your wife goes well."

"Me too." They walked to the fireplace, Harry took a pinch of Floo powder in his hand, and with a smile to Malfoy, he ducked under the mantle.

* * *

 **A/n: Sorry that my updates are late agh. College doesn't give me much time to write.**

 **For your information, Wheezeleys' is my short form for Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. In case you haven't guessed already.**

 **As always, let me know what you think! Your reviews inspire me to write faster and update faster.**

 **Thank you for reading!**

 **Lots of love~**

 **Arty xx**


	23. 23 Lies: A Crack in the Lies

**A/n: I seem to be apologising every chapter... it's become a habit. I must apologise for the lateness of my updates, but to make up for it- here's an early Christmas present!**

* * *

 **Chapter 23**

 **A Crack in the Lies**

* * *

 **[18 November 2011]**

 **4:17 PM**

"Are we there yet?"

Harry sighed as he looked up from rummaging in the backpack beside him. "Yes, Al. We'll be there any time, now."

Albus grumbled as he sat back in his seat, arms crossed, sulking. Lily squirmed in Harry's lap and muttered in her sleep. He patted her hair gently before turning to James, who, to his astonishment, was still immersed in the children's book about Muggle gadgets that Ron had given him the previous evening.

"Jamie, why don't you and Al play that new game Louis taught you the other day?"

"Not now," came James' mumbled response as he scrutinised an illustration in the book.

Just as Harry wondered what to do to entertain his son, the train let out a loud hoot, signalling their arrival at the station. Albus jumped out of his seat and raced to the window, pressing his nose up against the glass, and peered outside excitedly. "Dad, look!" he exclaimed, bouncing on the spot. "It's the platform!"

"That's great, Al," Harry replied as he zipped up the backpack and slung it over his shoulder. Bundling Lily up in his arms, he waited patiently for the train to pull into the station, nervous anticipation thrumming through him.

He had gone over the scene of his and Ginny's meeting over a dozen times in his head, and thought of all the worst-case scenarios he would have to deal with. But, he hoped and prayed that things went smoothly, and that he could return home with his family.

"Dad, come on, let's go!" Albus was saying as he tugged on Harry's sleeve. "We're here!"

"Al, calm down," Harry instructed as he hefted Lily up and rose to his feet. "Here, why don't you hold on to this?"

He handed Albus the backpack, watching as his son obediently slung it over his shoulders and looked up at Harry with wide eyes. "Jamie," Harry said, tapping the book. "We've reached. Put your book away, please."

"One more minute," James answered, his nose inches away from the page.

"No, James." Harry took the book and held it out of the boy's reach. "If you finish reading it right now, then you won't have anything to do on the journey home."

"We're going back by train?" Albus asked, sounding very unenthusiastic.

 _Well, at least now I know they hate riding the train and won't keep pestering us about traveling by one anymore._ "Why?" he asked as he pushed open the compartment door and peered outside. "I thought you liked the train."

"It's not very fun," Albus muttered, sticking his lower lip out.

Harry smiled and patted his head. "Alright, you two. Stick close to me or you'll get lost. Al, maybe you should let Jamie carry the bag. It looks a little heavy for you."

Albus shook his head, and James shrugged, glad he didn't have to carry it, as he took hold of Albus's hand. Harry herded his sons down the corridor and helped them out of the train. He looked up at the large clock on the wall and decided that they were right on time.

It didn't take them very long to get to the guesthouse where the Harpies were staying. As he made his way in, he looked around, wondering how he was going to locate Ginny, when a familiar voice called out his name.

"Harry!"

He looked over his shoulder to see Gwenog Jones stride up to him, a wide grin on her face. "What'cha doing here?"

"Hey!" He shook her hand and let her slap him on the shoulder before he answered. "We—" he motioned to the kids and himself, "—are here to surprise Ginny."

"Oh." Jones frowned, looking confused. "I don't think she's still around, though."

Heart beginning to race, he fought to keep his composure as he said, "I'm sorry?"

Jones waved her hand. "She was supposed to leave with us tomorrow, but then decided she would leave right after the match to get some extra coverage or something. You should talk to Angeline. I'm sure she'd know better."

"I'm sure she would," Harry said in a low voice as he followed after Jones. They found the team gathered in an alcove by the elevators, and Jones hollered for Angelina, who seemed to turn pale when she spotted Harry and the kids.

"Harry," she said, her voice oddly high-pitched. "What're you doing here?"

"Surprise!" James and Albus yelled grinning up at their aunt.

"Oh, my." She laughed nervously, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I sure am surprised."

"We actually came to see Ginny," Harry said, his voice sounding harsher than usual even to him. "Any idea where she is?"

"Oh, um..." Angelina looked around, as though the answer to his question would come traipsing around a corner, and then said, "She left, actually. I thought you knew."

"Well, obviously not," he replied, motioning to his kids.

"Look, Harry," Angelina sighed, looking tired. "Maybe you should just call her. She took off right after the match. The only thing she told me was that she was going to hunt down some source about some rumour she'd heard or something. I really don't know where she went. I wasn't too worried because she told me she'd told you she'd be home by Monday at the latest."

"She didn't," he said in a clipped voice.

"Mummy's not here?" Albus asked, looking up at them with wide eyes.

"Jamie," Harry quickly said, "why don't you and Al go explore? Maybe you can even bag some autographs on the way."

James exclaimed in delight, and the two brothers raced off, backpack discarded by Harry's feet, their original purpose long forgotten. He turned back to Angelina as he tightened his grip on his sleeping daughter. "So," he said, "she told you that she'd told me she'd be home on Monday?"

Angelina shook her head, looking like she wanted no part of whatever it was that was going on between Harry and Ginny. "Look, I've told you what I know. I honestly didn't want to pester her any more because she'd been pretty out of it ever since your big fight. I thought it would help her cool her head if she was by herself for a bit, so I just left her be. I honestly didn't think you'd suddenly appear here with the kids and all."

He could feel the anger boiling just beneath the surface, but he knew better than to take it out on Angelina, because he was sure she was telling the truth. Even if she had been in on whatever Ginny had been up to, she clearly looked like she didn't want any part of it, and Harry didn't want to push her into a corner for no fault of hers.

"Do you at least have any idea where she was planning on going?"

Angelina shrugged, running a hand down her face. "I don't know. Somewhere in Dorset, maybe. I really don't know, Harry."

He nodded once. "I believe you." He then eyed Lily's sleeping face for a moment before saying, "Do you mind holding her for a moment? Let me make a call."

Angelina nodded, gently taking Lily from him and cradling her as she rocked from side to side. He stepped back as he pulled his phone out and hit the speed dial button for Ginny. Pressing the phone to his ear, he listened to the ringtone, his impatience further increasing with every second that went by. When the call automatically got disconnected because no one answered, he tried again, gritting his teeth to contain his irritation as he tapped his foot on the floor.

She answered on the third try, just before he decided to cut the call. "Hello? Harry?"

"Ginny," he said, his voice a little too loud. "Where are you?"

He shared a look with Angelina as he waited for her reply, and after some fumbling around from the other end, Ginny said, "I'm with the girls. We're just about to go to the after-party. Why?"

He inhaled deeply, the sense of betrayal overflowing as he clutched the phone so tight that he was sure it would leave a mark on his skin. "Oh, you're with the girls, are you?"

Angelina flinched, probably from the strength of his voice or the look on his face, or both, and although he wanted to walk away, he was rooted to the spot, all of his energy focused on not exploding. There was silence from the other end before Ginny asked, "What's wrong? You sound… angry."

"Oh, _no._ I'm not angry. Not angry at all. Why would I be angry?"

"Harry," Ginny said, her voice so soft and caring that it made him want to hurl the phone across the room. "Look, I know we had a pointless fight, and I've decided that I'll come home early so that we can talk about it. But, I'm busy right now and everyone's waiting for me, so can I talk to you later?"

"Sure," he said, his voice grating to his own ears. "But, before that, can I talk to Angie for a minute? George told me to tell her something."

There was silence from the other end, and he could almost feel Ginny's panic through the phone. "Oh, sure, but—she's not here right now. I think she's already in the hall. I'll ask her to call you back later, OK? Bye now, sweetheart. I've really got to go."

Teeth gritted, he still had the phone pressed to his ear even after that, so he heard the sound of a child's voice just before the call got disconnected, and that was the last straw.

"Well," he said as he flipped the phone shut and stuffed it into his pocket, his hand shaking uncontrollably. "I guess there's nothing to do but head home."

He all but snatched Lily out of Angelina's arms, causing her to wake up, and smiled tightly at the woman. She had a look of extreme pity in her eyes that further aggravated him, and before she could say or do anything to worsen the situation, he grabbed the bag off the floor, spun on his heels, and stormed out.

She called after him, but he barely heard her past the ringing in his ears. He was so furious that he honestly didn't know how long he could hold it in.

"Daddy?" Lily's voice cut into him, and he tried to swallow back the lump in his throat but failed. "Where we going?"

"Home." He looked around and spotted his sons eyeing a tall vase by the far side of the room, and somehow the thought of a vase just seemed to push him over the edge. "James, Albus!" he barked, startling the two, and they hurried over to where he was, confused expressions on their faces.

"What's going on?" James asked. "Where's Mum?"

"Your mother isn't here. I'm sorry your surprise is ruined, but I need you to just do as I say for now, alright?" When the two boys just continued to stare up at him wide-eyed, he inhaled deeply and repeated, "Alright?"

They nodded fervently, and Harry grabbed Albus's hand and all but dragged him out of the guesthouse.

"Dad," James was saying as he ran to keep up, "we're really going home? Why isn't Mum here?"

"Stop asking questions," he snapped as he strode into the closest alleyway. "Now." He looked from one frightened-looking boy to the other. "I'm going to Apparate with your sister and come back for you, so till I'm back, do—not—move. Am I clear?"

They nodded and shared confused glances. Harry hefted the bag on his shoulder, stepped back, tightened his grip on Lily, and with a, "Hold on tight," spun on the spot and Disapparated. His destination had sprung to mind without him even having to think about it, and when he appeared in Ron and Hermione's living room, four pairs of surprised eyes fixed on him, he only took a moment to put the bag down and hand Lily to Ron, who was the closest, before stepping back and Apparating again.

When he reappeared before his sons, Albus was crying, and James looked like he would break down at any moment. He felt his heart squeeze painfully, the guilt replacing his rage momentarily, and he sighed as he knelt down and held his arms out. His sons ran into his embrace, and he held them for a moment, his own eyes burning, before he pulled back and looked between them.

"I'm sorry your surprise was ruined," he said again, his voice gentle.

Albus scrubbed at his eyes as he shook his head, and James sniffed once before offering Harry a watery smile and saying, "At least we got to surprise Auntie Angie."

Harry chuckled softly and brushed James' hair out of his eyes as he rose to his feet. "Alright. Ready to Apparate?"

"It makes me sick," Albus said in a small voice, and Harry ruffled his hair.

"I know, Al, but can you be brave this one time? Please?"

His son nodded and wrapped his arms around Harry's waist. James stepped close to Harry as the latter bent down and helped him climb up his back. He then picked up Albus, and once he made sure both boys were secure, he began to spin on the spot. Just before he Disapparated, he heard James whisper, "I'm sorry, Daddy."

* * *

 **6:49 PM**

"They're finally asleep."

He looked up as Hermione entered the room and nodded his thanks. Sighing, he sat back and took another swig from his glass of wine, feeling the warmth seep through him. Ron had apparently deemed it a worthy occasion to crack open a bottle of their best wine, and Hermione hadn't disagreed in the least.

"So, what happened?" Ron finally asked once Hermione had settled down beside him. Harry shrugged and finished off his glass before replying.

"Your sister's a terrible liar, and probably a cheat."

He had thought Ron would get angry, or maybe even throw something at him, but the redhead only glanced towards his wife, unreadable expressions on both their faces, and that made Harry feel even worse.

"I doubt she's a cheat," Hermione said, but the way she said it didn't make it sound like she was defending Ginny at all. It was just a statement.

"And I'm sure there's an explanation," Ron added.

Harry scoffed as he poured himself another glass. "I'm sure there is." He swivelled the wine, watching the ripples form across its murky surface. "But, right now, I'm more curious about you guys' lack of surprise."

They shared another look before Ron said, "Ginny spoke to us. About…" he trailed off, waving his hand. "Your fight."

Harry snorted as he took a long swig from his glass. "And?"

"And, we told her that while you may have been a little unreasonable, she wasn't entirely the victim, either," Hermione answered.

"A little?" Harry sat up straighter, his vision blurring in the slightest. "Hermione, I was _completely_ unreasonable. I wouldn't blame her even if she decided to have an affair."

"You don't mean that."

"No, I don't." He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "But I _was_ being unreasonable. It was a stupid fight, and I just wanted to make it up to her. None of this would've been so terrible if she just hadn't _lied_ to me."

"I'm sure she has a reason—"

"I _know_ she has a reason. She _always_ has a reason!" Hermione flinched from the force of his voice, and Ron shifted, his expression growing dark. Harry closed his eyes and breathed as he tried to calm himself. "It's just that this whole time I was under the impression that her weird behaviour was because of work and all the other small stressors in our life, but now… now I'm not so sure anymore."

"Harry." Hermione stood up and came to sit beside him. She placed a hand on his knee and smiled gently. "I know all of this seems very suspicious, but Ginny's not the sort of person who would cheat."

He eyed her for a long moment before looking away with a sigh. "I know." He stared at the wine in his glass and wondered if it would swallow up all his miseries if he looked into its murky depths long enough. "She has too much integrity for that. But, you know I've got an overactive imagination, and she isn't making things any better."

"I know," Hermione replied, her voice soft. "But jumping to conclusions before you even give her a chance to explain her side of the story isn't entirely fair, don't you think?"

He scoffed, rubbing his face with his free hand. "There's nothing about this situation that's fair, 'Mione."

"Just hear her out, mate."

They looked up to eye Ron, who just looked immensely tired as he ruffled his hair and sighed. "Just listen to what she has to say and then make a decision."

"If only it were that simple," he muttered as he polished off his third glass.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Harry eyed Ron for a moment before unfocusing his gaze and inhaling deeply. He then refocused it on his best friend's face and said, "I mean, I highly doubt your sister's going to just come clean and tell me the truth." When Ron started to argue, Harry held up a hand to silence him and continued. "And I know this because that's the sort of person she is. Whatever it is, it's big enough for her to go out of her way to lie to me, and that only means it's something she regrets doing and wants to fix it on her own."

Hermione made a simpering sort of sound that reassured him that his theory might be true, so he said, "Because I'm the same way, too. I wanted to handle my nightmares on my own without having to rope in a whole bunch of people unnecessarily because it's a problem only I can solve. So I can't really say I'm thoroughly innocent, either."

They all sat in silence for a while, each brooding over their own thoughts, till Hermione finally announced that she would get supper ready and disappeared into the kitchen. Ron had a glass of wine, and Harry had another, the effects of the alcohol making him groggy and sleepy, and he decided that he would eat a little for courtesy's sake and then return home to sleep.

As they made their way to the dining room, Ron said to him in a low voice, "This is exactly why we don't keep secrets, mate."

* * *

 _When he saw the eerie mist that crawled across the ground and felt the chill creep up his spine, he couldn't help but think that it had been a while since he'd had a nightmare. He looked around, taking in the morbid setting and wondering what would happen this time around._

 _He stood in place for quite a while, just taking in the sounds of the night; the screeches of unknown creatures, the rustle of the wind, the faraway howl of a Werewolf. Somehow, none of it bothered him. For some reason, he felt as though he belonged there. He looked down at himself and saw that he was clothed in flowing black robes that were reminiscent of what the Death Eaters wore. He pulled back his left sleeve and eyed his forearm, relieved to see nothing there but the thin scar that he had received in his fourth year._

 _The wind picked up, and he looked up to see a cloaked form materialise before him. Instead of panicking, he just stood and watched as the mysterious being floated towards him, its hood so low over its face that he could see nothing but blackness beneath it._

" _Who are you?" he asked, his voice sounding ethereal, like a long-forgotten whisper being carried away by the cold November breeze._

 _The form stopped a few feet away and slowly lifted its arm and held it out to him. "Come," it said, its unearthly voice sounding oddly familiar._

 _He stared at the surprisingly human hand, so pale that the veins stood out beneath the skin. "Come," the person whispered again, and he raised his own hand with the intention of taking the outstretched one._

" _Who are you?" he repeated, even as he took the hand, the coldness of it reminiscent of a forgotten feeling._

 _The cloaked form didn't answer and only guided him into the black fog that surrounded them. He didn't know who the person was, or where they were taking him, but, for some reason, he wasn't afraid. He felt a sense of security as he tightened his grasp on the fingers in his, as though he could trust the one before him._

 _There was a sudden gust of wind from ahead that blew the mist right over them and pushed the hood off the person's head. But even as he was enveloped by the darkness, the feeling of the hand in his and the sight of the shimmering blond head before him reassured him that no harm would come to him._

 _Even in a world of darkness, as long as he didn't let go of that hand, he would be safe._

* * *

 **[19 November 2011]**

 **7:16 AM**

He woke up feeling oddly calm and relaxed, as though he was a completely different person than he had been the previous night, and could look at things from a more neutral point of view.

After a quick bath and breakfast, he Apparated to Ron and Hermione's to find his children already up and about. They were at the table, chattering away with their cousins, but the moment they spotted him, they came racing towards him and wrapped their arms around him.

"Good morning," he said with a laugh as he hugged them back. "You lot are up nice and early. What's the occasion?"

"Uncle Ron's taking us to a Muggle 'moosement park!" Albus said, excitement shimmering in his eyes.

"He is?" Harry asked, looking up at Ron with raised eyebrows.

The latter shrugged as he bit into a muffin. "Dad and Mum thought it would be a good idea to take the kids out before they started school again."

"When're we starting school, Dad?" James asked, his eyes wide and shimmering.

He looked from one child to the other and made a decision in an instant. "How about Monday?"

"Yay!" they cheered and ran around him before jumping around the living room.

He laughed as he walked up to the dining table, and Ron looked at him with raised eyebrows. "Monday?"

"Yeah. The sooner, the better."

"What about Ginny?"

He shrugged as he picked an apple from the fruit basket and bit into it. "I'm sure she wouldn't mind, considering how busy she is and all."

Ron got a strange expression on his face but didn't say anything. "Anyway," Harry said. "I came over to check up on them and thought I'd take the day off to be with them, but, seeing how they're more happy and excited to be going out with you, I guess I can head off to work without worrying too much."

"Yeah, it'll be fine," Ron replied. "After today, I don't think what happened yesterday will even be on their mind."

Harry glanced at his kids and said, "Let's hope so."

He clapped Ron on the back, told him to say hi to Hermione, and made his way to the study after saying bye to his kids. Just as he scooped up some Floo powder, James called out to him.

"Dad?"

"What is it, Jamie?"

His son walked up to him, eyes downcast and hands meddling with the hem of his shirt. Frowning, Harry squatted down and looked up at the boy. "What's wrong?"

James wouldn't look at him for a long moment, and Harry had to coax him a little before he finally did. "Are you and Mum going to split up?"

Surprised, Harry chuckled awkwardly before saying, "No, of course not. Why would you think that?"

James shrugged and dropped his gaze. Harry pulled him closer and lifted his chin by placing a finger under it. "Come on, Jamie. You know you can talk to me about anything."

He could see the conflict in his son's eyes, and wondered if he had underestimated the boy's perceptiveness just because he was seven. As though answering his question, James said, "I dunno. You work later than you used to, and you and Mum fight a lot. And then she wasn't there yesterday when we went to surprise her—did we do something, Dad? Was it because we were bad?"

Seeing the tears in James' eyes broke Harry's heart, and he pulled the boy into a hug and kissed his hair. "No, Jamie. Never. We're so lucky to have such good kids."

"I'm sorry," James said, pulling away. "I really didn't mean to hurt all those people, Dad, I really didn't. I promise. I won't do it again."

It took Harry a second to figure out that his son was talking about the incident at their previous preschool, and when he did, it hit him like a ton of bricks. "Jamie," he said, holding his son gently. "That was an accident. You were only trying to protect Al and Lily. None of this is your fault. I promise you."

"Then why?" James sobbed, looking helpless. "You used to never fight as much before that. Mum used to never cry before that. I _know_ it's my fault!"

He felt as though someone was wringing his heart as he eyed his son, lost for words. He had had no idea that Ginny had been crying. _What sort of father am I?_

"James, listen to me," he said, desperately trying to swallow the lump in your throat. "Mummy and Daddy never used to fight in front of you kids even if we did, and I'm sorry that you think you started all of this, but you didn't. I swear. This is Mummy and Daddy's problem, and neither you, nor Al, nor Lily are the cause of it. I promise you."

James sniffed and rubbed his eyes. "Really?"

"Really." He hugged the boy again, breathing deeply to contain his emotions. He had never known that all this while, not only had James known that Ginny and him were having problems, he had also been blaming himself for it. If he thought back, a lot of the kids' recent behaviours suddenly made sense. Lily never used to cry when either of them went to work, and Albus never used to constantly stick to him or seem so lost and lonely. It looked like he had been running away from more than just his nightmares.

Once he was sure James had calmed down, he pulled back and said, "Jamie, would you like it if I came with you to the amusement park today?"

James' eyes widened and he nodded enthusiastically. "Yes!"

Harry smiled as he rose to his feet and put the Floo powder back in its bowl. "Alright, then. How about we go back home and get dressed so that we can leave as soon as possible?"

"I'll go tell Lily and Al!" James exclaimed as he raced out of the room, leaving Harry feeling conflicted. He sighed and ruffled his hair, feeling like more of a failure than he had in a very long time. "Some dad I am," he muttered.

"I think you're a better dad than you think you are."

He looked up in surprise to see Hermione standing by the door, neatly folded clothes in her hands and a gentle smile on her face. "Sorry, I was passing by and couldn't help but overhear," she said sheepishly. He chuckled at that and made his way to the door. "I also think you're a better friend, husband and son-in-law than you think you are," she added softly.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and hugged her sideways. "You always know exactly what to say and exactly when to say it."

She looked up at him with sparkling eyes. "Of course. Who do you think I am?"

He laughed, and they made their way downstairs, the joyous shrieks of the children and Hermione's words making him feel a bit better about himself, and temporarily pushed his anxiousness to the back of his mind.

* * *

 **A/n: The next chapter's about Draco and Harry meeting Blaise, so look forward to that!**

 **I'm hoping to get it in before the year end, so let's see *fingers crossed***

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **Let me know what you thought!**

 **P.S. no, Ginny isn't cheating. Just putting it out there.**

 **Lots of love~**

 **Arty xx**


	24. 24 Lies: An Inkling of an Idea

**A/n: Happy New Year, my lovelies! I hope this year will bring you all the happiness you wish for and make all your dreams come true. Also, it's been half a year since I first posted this story! Wow! We've come a long way. I'm glad I got to post this before college started again. Here's some nice Drarry progress to start off your new year!**

* * *

 **Chapter 24**

 **An Inkling of an Idea**

* * *

 **[20 November 2011]**

 **3:12 PM**

He looked around, eyes searching for the mop of platinum-blond as he stood in front of the Hotel Corinthia, where we was supposed to meet Malfoy. Checking his watch to make sure he was on time, he started to wonder if he should go inside when a familiar voice called out to him.

"Mr Potter!"

He looked up with a smile as Malfoy strode up to him, cheeks flushed and hair wind-swept. "My apologies," the blond gasped as he reached Harry. "Work took longer than expected."

"You work on Sundays?" Harry asked curiously as they made their way inside.

"I never stop working," Malfoy replied as he straightened his tie and ran his fingers through his hair, making Harry belatedly wonder if his blond locks were as soft to touch as they looked. "Such is the job of a Mind Healer."

Harry snorted as they headed towards the lift. He eyed the luxurious lobby with its sparkling chandeliers overhead and tall, delicately carved vases full of expensive flowers placed on fancy mahogany tables, feeling his nervousness grow. He didn't make it a habit to visit too many five-or-more starred hotels because all the luxury made him uncomfortable. He always preferred a simple, ordinary life over the extravagant sort that Malfoy was used to.

As they stood in the lift, watching the numbers on the display change, he nervously drummed his fingers against his leg, feeling himself break out in cold sweat from the sheer anticipation of what was to come. He wasn't entirely sure why the thought of meeting Zabini and showing him the vase was making him this anxious, but it was, as though the thought of being rejected by the man would somehow be a heavy blow to him. He glanced sideways at the serene expression on Malfoy's face and inhaled deeply.

 _Get yourself together, Harry. You're not a naïve seventeen-year-old anymore._

The lift pinged, and they stepped out into a decked-up ballroom, complete with a red carpet that ran in-between the tables and led up to a stage at the very back of the spacious room. Malfoy made a beeline towards the stage, before which a small group of well-dressed people were crowded around a man who was swiftly relaying instructions to them.

"—and Murray, make sure that the guests don't read the cards upside down and sit at the wrong tables this time. I don't need any unforeseen disasters tonight, am I clear?"

"Yessir!"

The man turned around, his dark eyes widening at the sight of Malfoy and a joyful grin spreading across his handsome face as he held his arms out. "Draco! It's been _ages!_ You haven't changed in the least, I see. _"_

"And I see that you're still sending your people running from pillar to post till the very last moment," the blond replied as he stepped into the embrace and clapped his friend on the back. He then turned around and gestured to Harry, and although he had his usual, genial smile on his face, there was clear anticipation shimmering in his silver eyes. "Blaise, I'm sure you remember Harry Potter?"

Harry stepped forwards and held his hand out, a tight smile on his face. Zabini quirked an eyebrow as he accepted the outstretched hand and shook it once, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Do I ever. It's a pleasure to see you again, Mr Potter. Although, if not for Draco here, who always loves a chance to put a damper on my plans, I daresay that it wouldn't be the case."

"Now, now," Malfoy said as he stepped in-between the two. "How about we reserve the small talk for later and get down to business?" He smiled at Harry. "The vase, Mr Potter?"

Harry nodded and reached into his coat. He pulled out a small pouch and held it upside down over his palm so the shrunken vase would slip out. He then placed the vase on the stage and waved his wand, returning it to its original size.

Zabini was before it in an instant, squinting down at it with a hand to his chin as he scrutinised it from all angles. "I can't really make a decision without further investigation," the man finally declared as he stepped back.

Harry saw Malfoy roll his eyes as he moved forwards and said, "I can attest to its quality as well as its value, Blaise. I wouldn't have suggested it to you if I knew it wasn't the best of the best."

Zabini eyed Malfoy for a moment before scoffing. "Always the connoisseur, aren't you?" He motioned towards a door beside the stage, hidden behind the curtains, and said, "If you will."

Harry Levitated the vase as he followed behind the two men, his heart thumping in his ears, and as soon as he entered the room, Zabini instructed him to place the vase on the counter by the wall and go away. As Harry walked to the far side of the room, dabbing his sweaty forehead with his sleeve, he felt a hand on his shoulder and looked back to see Malfoy.

"Are you alright?" the blond asked, an expression of concern on his face. "You look unwell."

"I'm fine, thanks." Harry nodded as he took a seat and sighed, but he couldn't deny that he was feeling slightly nauseous as he loosened his tie and inhaled deeply. He reckoned it was the effect of having exerted himself too much the previous day, not having slept well the previous night, having eaten a meagre breakfast, and, last but not the least, expending all of his energy on not thinking about Ginny's betrayal. "I'm fine," he repeated, more to reassure himself than for anything else.

Although Malfoy didn't say anything, Harry could feel the intensity of the man's gaze on him and knew that Malfoy was seeing right through him. All of his friends had always told him that he was an open book and was terrible at hiding things, although he thought he had gotten better at it, of late.

"Why don't we go out for a bit of fresh air and leave Blaise to his own devices?" When Harry didn't make an attempt to move, Malfoy added, "He hates being watched while he works, so you sitting here is only going to do more harm than good."

Harry groaned as he rose to his feet, and they made their way out of the room. But, instead of heading towards the lifts, Malfoy turned right and stopped before a set of heavy drapes. He pulled one back to reveal a balcony beyond, holding it open for Harry to slip through and letting it fall shut once he was outside. Inhaling deeply, Harry closed his eyes and listened to the sound of the evening traffic and the hustle of the crowd below as he tried to relax.

"Sometimes," Malfoy said from beside him, "I like to do this—" he waved his wand, muttering a spell under his breath, and after a soft _zoop_ and _pop,_ all the sounds around them seemed to disappear completely. "It's literally like living in your own bubble, isn't it?"

Harry glanced at the serene smile on the blond's face and exhaled, feeling himself calm down. "When the noise around you is too loud," Malfoy continued, staring straight ahead, "you become unable to listen to your own thoughts. But, then again," he paused, closing his eyes as he tilted his head back, as though actually listening to the voices in his head, "if it's too quiet, then the clamour of your thoughts becomes rather cacophonic, so I suppose it's a double-edged sword."

"You say the strangest things, sometimes," Harry murmured as he watched the breeze gently rustle through Malfoy's platinum locks. "And it's stranger still that they somehow seem to make perfect sense."

Malfoy cracked his eyes open to glance sideways at Harry, his light eyelashes catching the rays of the setting sun, making the silver of his irises glimmer. The corners of his lips quirked up in his trademark smirk, and for a moment, it was as though time had paused in its endless traverse and they were the only two people in the entire world. Then, Malfoy blinked, and the moment had passed.

Harry inhaled deeply as he turned to stare down at the bustling street beneath them, feeling oddly disconnected from it all as he watched the silent goings-on. They remained standing there for what seemed like a long time, the gentle breeze caressing Harry's flushed cheeks and burning forehead. The calmer Harry felt, the clearer his muddled thoughts seemed to become. As he watched a cyclist come around a corner, he said, "The surprise was a complete and utter disaster, as you've probably guessed."

He waited for Malfoy to respond, and after a moment, the blond asked, "What happened?"

"My wife seems to have a tendency for telling lies. Not that I blame her; I seem to have the same tendency. But, I suppose now I know what a hit to the ego it is when somebody lies straight to your face." He sighed, focusing on the rhythmic _tac-tac-tac_ of his nails against the metal railing as he continued; "I also found out that my kids are far more perceptive than I've given them credit for, and that I may be a worse father and husband than I thought I was."

He saw Malfoy shift from the corner of his eyes, but before the latter could speak, he said, "Sometimes I can't help but wonder if Ginny and I rushed into this marriage a little too fast." He tightened his grip on the railing as he felt a lump form in his throat. "And other times I wonder if maybe we should've done it sooner. After all, we found each other at the worst possible time; when death was looming over our heads and we barely knew if we would live to see another sunrise. We desperately yearned for the comfort of a companion, and she was just as much the wood to my fire as I was hers. Even after the war had ended, our problems hadn't. We simply leeched off of each other's happiness and positive energy, and were more than glad that we weren't alone in this rotten, twisted world."

He laughed bitterly, his voice breaking, and he cleared his throat as he felt the telltale burn of tears in the corners of his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he took a few moments to calm himself, grateful for Malfoy's patient silence. After a time, he said softly, "I can't help but wonder if things would've been different—if Ginny and I would've even ended up together if we'd done anything differently."

When he felt a hand close around his wrist, he looked up into intense, stormy eyes as Malfoy said, "You can't let one small incident shatter the very foundation of your entire marriage."

"I know, but—"

"Harry—may I call you that?"

Just hearing Malfoy call him by his first name sent shivers down his spine. He opened his mouth, found himself unable to speak, and nodded dumbly. Malfoy's grip on Harry's wrist tightened as he said, "While I agree with everything you've said about finding each other when you did, isn't that true for most people? Is your love for your wife so fragile that it can be undone so easily?"

He didn't know why, but the fire that was burning in the blond's eyes showed that he cared more for this matter than he probably should—as though it was something that struck him on a personal level; as though he himself was plagued by such thoughts, and Harry's answer would serve to either strengthen or severe them.

"No," he answered slowly. "No, it's not."

Malfoy's grip on his wrist loosened, and the man nodded, looking somehow relieved. "But," Harry began, the betrayal still fresh in his heart and mind, but Malfoy wouldn't have it.

"No buts." He held a finger up. "Since this isn't an official visit, I don't have to hold back on what I want to say. Harry, you love your wife, so stop questioning all the rights and wrongs of your relationship and instead have a heart-to-heart with her."

Harry stared at Malfoy for a long moment before scoffing. "You seem like you need to take your own advice more than I do," he said, mostly because he felt a belated sense of having lost to the blond, but seeing the conflict that flitted across the man's face, Harry wondered if he'd struck a nerve.

"Maybe I do," Malfoy muttered, a faraway look in his eyes, but before Harry could respond, the drapes were pulled back and an annoyed looking Zabini poked his head in and said something. Harry jerked his chin towards the curtains, and Malfoy glanced over his shoulder before waving his wand and undoing the silence spell. The sounds came back with such force that Harry almost wavered. He glanced at Malfoy, but the blond was already speaking with Zabini.

"All done?"

Zabini nodded and shot a look at Harry. "Fortunately, or unfortunately, that vase is the real deal. I don't know how you came to possess it, or why you so desperately want to get rid of it, but this is your last chance to change your mind."

"How much do you think it would go for?" Harry asked as he came to stand beside Malfoy.

Zabini's lips were a thin line as he replied; "More than a fortune."

* * *

 **9:17 PM**

"This is taking longer than I expected it to."

Harry glanced sideways at Malfoy as the blond voiced out what he was thinking. "Well, you _did_ say he was auctioning _everything."_

Malfoy sighed. "Right, but I honestly didn't expect the crowd to be this large. Nor did I expect the bidding war to be this intense. Nobles seem to have some strange idea stuck in their heads that the weirder and more exotic an artefact they possess, the higher their status and the respect they get in society is. It's rather pitiful."

An amused smile spread across Harry's face as he twirled his glass of wine. "You really say some amusing things, Malfoy."

"Glad that you find me entertaining," the blond replied with a scoff. "But, really, is it alright for you to stay this late? You said you promised your kids you'd be home for supper, didn't you?"

Harry didn't answer as he sipped from his glass. Staring at the podium, he said softly, "They should be alright without me."

It surprised him when Malfoy let out a humongous sigh and shook his head in a way that made Harry feel like he'd disappointed the man so greatly that nothing he ever said or did could make up for it. "You really need to get over yourself, Potter," the blond said as he picked up his glass. "Although I know self-pity and self-loathing are a predominant part of your personality, it really gets me down when you say things like that."

"You really have no filter when you're outside of work, do you?" Harry retorted as he felt an embarrassed flush creep up his neck.

Malfoy shrugged a shoulder and smirked. "There's a limit to how many hours a week I can keep up my Mind Healer façade, you know. It's rather tiring, to be honest. Even _I_ need a break."

Harry rolled his eyes as he finished off his glass and watched it refill. "You might want to go easy on the wine," Malfoy mused as he sipped from his own glass.

"And waste an opportunity as great as this? It's not everyday that I get to drink as much expensive wine as I want without having to pay a single knut for it."

Malfoy snorted, and the two lapsed into comfortable silence as they continued to watch the proceedings. After a time, Harry asked, "What do people even do after buying all this stuff? I mean, there has to be a limit to how much junk you can accumulate in your home."

"That's a rather rude thing to say," Malfoy countered. "Some people take great pride in being antiques collectors."

Harry glanced sideways at the blond as he wondered if Malfoy was a collector himself. The man nodded towards the table diagonally in front of theirs and said, "See that old Russian couple there? They're renown for having a keen eye for the best and most original antiques. Blaise succeeded in convincing them to invest in his endeavour in exchange for helping them start up an antique museum in Moscow."

"Museum?"

Malfoy nodded. "It's rather surprising that although wizard kind have existed for so many centuries, there are barely a handful of museums dedicated to our history. Wizarding folk don't really care one way or another when it comes to them. I understand why such would be the case, considering that magical schools like Hogwarts and Beauxbatons act as museums themselves, but, still, it would be nice to have a place dedicated solely to showcasing our splendorous history."

It was as though a spell had hit him right in the chest and forced the air out of his lungs. His heart had begun to race, and even as Malfoy spoke, he could feel the small pinprick of an idea morph and solidify in his mind. He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, as he tossed the idea back and forth before daring to say it loud.

"Have you ever thought of establishing a museum?"

Malfoy hummed and nodded. "As a matter of fact, I have. I always thought it would make more sense to showcase the various antiques and artefacts that have accumulated in the Manor over the centuries instead of letting them rot away, collecting dust in some long-forgotten corner of the mansion. I never got very far with the idea, though…" he trailed off, a strange look on his face.

"What if—" Harry broke off and inhaled deeply. "What if we put that idea into motion?"

Malfoy stared at him wide-eyed, eyebrows raised, the confusion clear in his grey eyes. "What?"

"No, just consider it." He turned to face Malfoy, anticipation thrumming through his veins. "I myself have never been to a proper wizarding museum in all these years, and I suppose you're right about it not mattering as much because we have Hogwarts and the like, but wouldn't it be fantastic if there did exist a museum that showcased various things from our history?"

When Malfoy's brows drew together in a frown, Harry continued hastily; "Alright, maybe not our _entire_ history. Something smaller. Like—like the wars, for instance. Do people really know all there is to know about the wars? Those who took part in them vehemently refuse to ever speak of them or anything related to them, and everybody else just know that two wars happened and Voldemort was killed at the end. Nobody _really_ knows the intricacies of it all, do they? Although there are various accounts of the wars, I doubt they're wholly accurate. I mean, who better to relate what happened during the wars than the people who played important roles in them, right?"

The blond's frown had deepened as Harry had continued to speak, but what shimmered in his eyes was not disapproval but curiosity. Malfoy seemed to find what he was saying interesting enough to consider it, at the very least, and that was all Harry wanted of him just then. He knew how out there the whole idea was, and he was more than sure the five glasses of wine he'd downed may have had a hand in it, but it had been a long time since something had piqued his interest as strongly as this had.

"Well?" he asked rather breathlessly. "What do you say?"

After a lengthy pause, Malfoy said slowly, "I say… that you may have made a huge mistake by putting that vase up to be auctioned."

As though to prove the blond's point, the bid caller announced the final lot to be auctioned that evening: Harry's infamous vase.

Just as Harry thought to himself that maybe he could buy the vase back, the auctioneer said, "Starting at a price of fifty thousand galleons. Fifty thousand galleons, ladies and gentlemen."

His mouth fell open and he gawked at Malfoy as he whispered, " _Fifty thousand?"_

The blond merely shrugged and said, "Huge mistake."

Harry fell back in his seat, shaking his head in disbelief. "I never imagined the starting price would be that high."

"Well, pay attention, because that Russian couple just doubled it."

"At a hundred thousand galleons," the auctioneer announced, and a bidder's paddle went up from the far right of the room. "At a hundred and fifty thousand galleons."

"This is ridiculous!" Harry exclaimed under his breath. "Who would spend a hundred and fifty thousand galleons on a bloody _vase_? You could buy half of Hogsmeade with that money!"

"Didn't I already answer that question, Potter?" Malfoy was sitting forwards in his seat, an intense look in his eyes. "These people will do _anything_ to get their hands on an antique. Especially something as fantastic as yours."

"I can't even—" Harry shook his head in dismay. "I could _build_ an entire museum with that sort of money."

"Well, there we go, then."

"No, no." Harry waved his hand. "The money isn't the problem. If people are willing to buy the vase for that much, then it should be much more valuable than the amount of gold tacked on to it."

Malfoy scoffed. " _Now_ he gets it." Harry shot the man a look, but the blond only asked, "Are you willing to empty out an entire vault for the sake of that vase?"

"Are you mad? Absolutely not!"

"Well, I suppose that's a good thing. Who ever heard of someone buying back an item they put up on auction?"

"What're you talking—" Harry was cut off by Malfoy holding up a paddle. Slack-jawed, he stared at the man, shocked and unable to understand what the hell was going on in his head.

"We have a new bid for two million galleons! At two million galleons!"

The crowd broke out in murmurs as they looked back to stare at Malfoy, who had a triumphant smile on his face, and Harry had the urge to slide down his chair and disappear beneath the table. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Russian couple have a heated discussion before the wizard held up his own paddle.

"Three million! Next bidder at three million!"

Heart thundering in his chest, he prayed to Merlin that Malfoy wouldn't be stupid enough to—

"At four million! Next bidder at four million! Against you, Mr and Mrs Starodubtseva."

"What the _hell_ are you doing?" Harry hissed in Malfoy's ear as he pulled the man's arm down. "Are you completely out of your mind?"

"Shut up, Potter," Malfoy muttered in a voice so reminiscent of his younger self that it momentarily rendered Harry speechless.

He was snapped out of his daze by the Russian couple holding up their paddle, and the auctioneer promptly announced their bid for five million galleons. Before Harry could so much as turn his head to look at Malfoy, the blond had already held up his paddle, and the auctioneer declared that the vase was up for six million galleons.

Feeling exhausted, he slumped back in his chair and looked between the two tables mutely as they went back and forth in an attempt to outbid the other, until, finally, Malfoy bid for twenty-two million galleons, and the Russian couple sat back in their seats, looking sullen and very displeased.

"And selling at twenty-two million galleons—" the auctioneer brought the gavel down on the auction block, "—Mister Malfoy, your bid at twenty-two million galleons."

Malfoy sat back looking smug, and Harry watched, dumb-struck, as Zabini took the stage to close the auction and request his guests to proceed to the adjacent room. Harry then turned to stare at Malfoy, wide-eyed, unable to process what had just happened.

"What?" the blond questioned with his nose in the air, and Harry had the immense desire to smack the superior look off his pretty face.

"You are completely and utterly _mental!"_

"I second that."

They turned to see Zabini standing before their table, a murderous expression on his face. "Where the hell did you get a number from? You were never even meant to bid!"

Malfoy only smirked in response. "How does it matter? You made a terrific sale, and I got to empty out a vault that long needed emptying. Win-win, wouldn't you say?"

"Oh, I have quite a bit I want to say to you," Zabini bit back, but was interrupted by the Russian couple standing a little way away. "I swear, Draco, if they decide to withdraw their donation, you will have more than one empty vault on your hands."

"For Salazar's sake." Malfoy rolled his eyes. "They bought half your bloody lots. I daresay they never intended to outbid whoever bid for the vase anyway."

"You don't know that," Zabini hissed. "Nobody in their right mind would sell that vase, let alone not take the opportunity to buy it when they can!"

Malfoy nodded solemnly. "That I shan't deny."

Zabini ground his teeth together, shot Harry a menacing glare, and with a swish of his robes, went off to deal with his benefactors.

"What's the deal with this vase anyway?" Harry asked as they made their way to the front of the room so Malfoy could collect what was now rightfully his.

" _Aurum Sanctimonia."_

Harry blinked as he watched Malfoy shrink the carefully packed vase and pocket it. "Gold Purity." The blond gestured for Harry to follow after him. "That's what the vase is called. I don't blame you for not knowing its significance. I myself didn't know how amazing it was until Blaise explained it to me before the auction began."

He picked up a glass of champagne from the tray offered to him, finished it in one swig, and then muttered, "I may have had a tad too much to drink." As they made their way across the room, he continued; "This vase is believed to have been a peace offering from Merlin to Morgana in order to appease her anger after she burned down an entire village. Wars have been fought over it, innocent blood has been spilled over it, and finally, the ones to bequeath the vase was the noble house of Black. It is believed that by the time it reached the hands of the Blacks, it had been so badly tainted by Dark Magic that it served as the perfect Dark Artefact. Of course, it had seen so many years of misuse and maltreatment that it had lost its capacity to contain magic and didn't actually have any practical usage. It just became a mere cursed object."

Malfoy paused when he saw the blank expression on Harry's face and said, "This vase is made from the purest of metals and alloys, and is heavily inlaid with gold, hence making it a very powerful conductor of magic. But due to the sheer amount of abuse it has been through, it has lost the ability to behave as a conductor and hence was discarded as being no more than an ancient artefact. It was believed to be lost, several decades ago, so you can imagine Blaise's surprise when you, of all people, brought the vase to him."

"He'd been looking for it?"

Malfoy shrugged. "In a way."

Harry sighed, uninterested in anything else at that point. He was exhausted from everything that had happened in the past two days—plus the wine and the food were doing their job rather well—he just wanted to go home and collapse on his bed and forget about everything.

"You know," Malfoy said as he watched the Russian couple and Zabini. "You better have been serious about that museum."

Harry bit back a sigh as he said, "I don't know whether to thank you or punch you in the stomach."

Malfoy shot him a smirk, silvery eyes glistening with triumph, and Harry decided that he would let the blond have the win this time around because he was simply too tired and barely had enough will power to compete against a lunatic like Malfoy. Still, whatever said and done, Harry couldn't help but feel secretly smug, as though the fact that Malfoy had bought Harry's vase now meant that they were irrevocably tied together, whether they liked it or not.

* * *

 **A/n: So Draco called Harry by his first name! Wohoo! I would consider that progress. And now, ladies and gentlemen, the main arc of the story has finally begun. Of course there will be a lot of sub-arcs, but at least we're going somewhere. Also, about all the sudden and rash decisions made here- it's pretty obvious they both have their own problems and decided that they needed to just do something stupid on impulse just to get over stuff. Let's blame the wine, shall we?**

 **Thank you for reading!**

 **Do review and let me know what you thought!**

 **A very happy new year again!**

 **Lots of love~**

 **Arty xx**


	25. 25 Lies: Seal it with a Handshake

**A/n: Guess who graduates in two weeks! Meeeeeeee!**

 **I know it's been _ages_ since I updated, but I have been drowning in work, and _finally_ managed to catch a break today. (Special thanks to all my reviewers and followers for encouraging me to sit my ass down and write this.)**

 **Also, this story has successfully crossed the 150 follows mark! Can you believe it?! Because I can't! I'm so glad to know that y'all are enjoying reading this as much as I am writing it.**

 **As thanks, here's some much awaited progress in our dear darling Drarry's relationship:**

* * *

 **Chapter 25**

 **Seal it with a Handshake**

* * *

 **[21 November 2011]**

 _He looked around the unfamiliar corridor as a quiet humming filled his ears. Curious about where the sound was coming from, he walked down the narrow hallway till he reached a dead end. Eyeing the kneeling figure before him, it barely took him a moment to identify the short ginger hair, and as though noticing his presence, the person looked over their shoulder at him._

" _Harry," Ginny said softly, her eyes an eerie golden brown._

 _When he stepped closer, he noticed that there was a blond boy standing in front of her, his mop of curly hair and blue eyes vaguely familiar to Harry. Ginny picked the boy up and hoisted him on her hip, despite the fact that he looked to be about James' age and seemed rather heavy. "Good, you're home," she was saying as she walked towards him. "Trevor and I missed you."_

 _He paused. "Trevor?"_

 _Ginny nodded towards the child in her arms. "Yes. Our son, Trevor."_

 _Frowning, he took a step back as she turned to eye him with curiosity. "No," he said slowly. "That's not our son."_

" _Don't be silly. Of course he is. You even named him after Neville's toad and Hedwig."_

" _No," Harry said again. "We have three children: James, Albus and Lily. And none of them are blond."_

 _Ginny laughed, a vague, tinkling sound, and eyed him with amusement. "You're so funny, Harry. Of course our son would be blond, just like you."_

" _I'm not blond," he started to say, but when he glanced at the glass of the cabinet beside him, the person who stared back at him most definitely had light coloured hair and eyes that looked oddly reminiscent of a certain other person he knew. He turned back to Ginny, but she wasn't Ginny anymore. Her hair and eyes were darker, and she was wearing expensive-looking robes while exuding a regal aura._

" _What're you waiting for?" the woman who wasn't Ginny asked. She flipped her now long hair over her shoulder before putting the boy down. "Go to your father, son."_

 _He walked backwards as the boy ran up to him, and as the child caught Harry's legs, he stumbled and fell—not onto firm ground, but into what seemed like a dark pitfall._

 _As he closed his eyes, the last thing he thought of was that that had been one of the most bizarre dreams he had ever had._

* * *

 **7:16 AM**

He woke up feeling disgruntled and confused. Looking around, he blinked and made a face at the sour taste in his mouth. Before he could so much as wear his glasses and get out of bed, an excited James came tumbling into the room and jumped on top of him.

"Dad, Dad, Dad! Wake up, wake up!"

He groaned as he gently pushed his son off of him and trudged to the bathroom. James kept up a steady flow of energetic chatter as Harry freshened up, barely waiting for Harry to step out of the bathroom before he dragged him out of the room.

"Son, slow down," Harry instructed as James all but ran down the stairs, forcing Harry to take them two at a time. "I said—"

He broke off as they entered the living room, and Harry was greeted by the smell of burnt toast and what he hoped was uncooked eggs. "What do we have here?" he asked as he walked up to the kitchen isle and looked from one excited face to the other.

"We made you breakfast!" Albus announced as he gestured towards the warzone that was the kitchen. "Since Mum isn't home yet, we decided to do some cooking on our own."

"I see that." Harry peered into the bowl Lily was studiously mixing and waited till she was done to smile down at her and ask, "Lils, sweetheart, what is that?"

"Mashed stuff," Lily explained as she held the large bowl out to him. Harry took one whiff of the gooey mixture and scrunched up his nose.

"That's… very nice. And I'm supposed to eat all of it?" He asked wearily as James pushed him towards the dining table.

"Don't be silly, Dad," James chastised as he patted Harry on the shoulder. "We made you toast, too!"

As if on cue, Albus arrived with a plate of very black toast, followed by Lily, who was carrying a glass of orange juice and the bowl of mush balanced very precariously on a tray.

"Ta-da!" the kids sang as they placed the poor excuse for food on the table and eyed him expectantly.

Harry smiled, hoping he could somehow escape the horror of having to eat the mush and the burnt toast, but seeing how his kids were watching him with shining eyes full of anticipation, he knew he had no choice. _Guess I'll just down a vial of tonic or two if I survive this ordeal,_ he thought to himself as he spread a generous amount of the mush on one of the slices and bit into it.

"Mm," he hummed as he chewed the rather gravelly bit of toast that tasted very much like charcoal. "So yummy."

"Like it?" Albus asked, eyes round and sparkling.

"Oh—yes," Harry replied as he coughed and thumped his chest in an attempt to force down the toast.

"Great!" James took his siblings each by the hand, and dragged them towards the door. "Now, finish up while we go get ready for school!"

"School, school, we're going to school!" the trio chanted as they skipped out of the room.

The moment they were gone, Harry spat the remnants of the toast onto the plate and chugged down the orange juice. "Merlin have mercy," he moaned as he magicked the rest of the food away and placated his guilty conscious by deciding that he would take the kids out for ice cream in the evening. As he rose to his feet and Levitated the utensils to the sink, he glanced at the clock atop the mantle and decided that he would make a quick call to Audrey to remind her of their arrival.

* * *

 **8:03 AM**

The moment he stepped out of the Floo, he was greeted by a familiar blonde with a wide grin on her face. "Good morning, Mr Potter!"

"Morning, Vanessa," he said with a smile as he tried to control his overexcited children.

"Miss Audrey will be with you in a moment." Vanessa gestured towards the plush seats lining the far wall. "Please, have a seat."

He had barely sat down when Audrey bustled in, looking breathless. "Oh, there you are, hi," she gasped as she made her way towards him. "So sorry, there was a bit of a…situation."

"Oh, no, don't worry about it. I really appreciate everything you've done for us," he replied as he let her pull him into a quick hug before she turned to the kids with a smile.

"Nonsense," she told him with a pat on the arm before turning to the kids. "Good morning, you three!" she greeted them cheerily.

"Good morning," the trio chorused as they lined up in front of her.

"Are we all ready to start school?"

"Yes!"

"That's wonderful. How about we go meet your new friends?"

Audrey took Lily and Albus by the hand as she led them out of the room, and James and Harry following close behind. As they walked down the corridor, Audrey was having an animated conversation with the younger two, but James remained oddly silent.

"All alright?" Harry asked his son quietly as they paused outside a room. He could hear the sounds of children squealing and laughing, and James seemed to turn pale.

"Jamie?" Harry asked again as he smoothed down the cowlick on his son's head. He had known that returning to school may be hard for James, but the boy had had enough and more time to get over the trauma from the accident at his previous school—or so Harry hoped.

"'M fine," James mumbled, his eyes wide and fearful. Harry shared a look with Audrey and nodded before she led them into the room. Knowing James, he would soon forget all about his worries the moment he stepped through the door. He took after his namesakes a little too much, after all.

"Alright, boys and girls!" Audrey clapped her hands to get the attention of the dozen or so children, and the two other witches dressed in outfits similar to Audrey's, in the large room. "Remember how we talked about the arrival of our three new friends today?"

The kids chorused a "yes," as they came to stand around Harry and the rest, eyeing them curiously.

"Well, here they are!" Audrey turned towards Harry's kids and smiled. "Would you like to introduce yourselves?"

Albus and Lily hesitated, and seeing their nervousness, James rose to the occasion by puffing his chest out, sticking his chin in the air, stepping forward, and saying, "I'm James Potter, and these are my little brother and sister."

"I'm Al," Albus said quietly when James motioned towards him. Lily seemed to forget her momentary apprehension after seeing her older brother's bravery, and she raised her hand and introduced herself cheerfully. "I'm Lily!"

"Hello, James, Al and Lily," Audrey and the two other teachers said, followed by the children.

"Hello," the trio replied with varying levels of enthusiasm.

Audrey and the two other witches, who, from their nametags, were called Miss Dorothy and Miss Miranda, led the children to the centre of the room. They sat them down in a big circle and made them play a game so as to get to know Harry's kids better, and vice versa. Harry stood back and watched with a smile as his children interacted with the others.

James and Lily immediately became the centre of attention, and Harry could see that James would probably be leading the rest of the boys his age and younger soon enough. Lily, on the other hand, seemed to have become the new favourite playmate of the girls, who were about Albus's age or older, and Harry was sure they would pamper and spoil her as much as they could. Albus, on the other hand, being the quietest of the three, kept to himself most of the time. He would talk to whoever came up and spoke to him, but he mostly just went about discovering various aspects about the place on his own.

After a while, Audrey informed Harry that he had to sign a couple of papers to formalise the trio's admittance into Silver Sprigs, as well as meet the manager, who had apparently flown all the way back from some conference in Moscow just to meet him. Knowing that his meeting with an avid fan of his wouldn't end any time soon, he took one last look at his kids to make sure they would be OK before following Audrey out the room.

* * *

 **12:53 PM**

"I'm terribly sorry that it took so long…"

Both Audrey and Harry sighed in relief as they descended the stairs from the office to where the children were. The manager, a hefty, wide-mouthed witch with a booming voice that had rung like a gong through his head, had taken her own, sweet time to go about re-explaining everything there was to know about Silver Sprigs, despite the fact that both him and Audrey had repeated multiple times that she had already told Harry everything he needed to know. The manager had then proceeded to gush about how thrilled she was that Harry had chosen Silver Sprigs of all the pre-schools, and how she was sure he wouldn't be disappointed. Just when the duo had thought they could excuse themselves, the woman had started to narrate her entire life story and how she had come upon the rundown building that had been the old nobles' house before she took it upon herself to renovate it and turn it into a school for the children of the renowned and noteworthy.

He had drunk so many cups of tea to keep himself occupied that by the end of the meeting, he had had to rush to the loo.

Audrey excused herself as they reached the corridor, and they split ways as she headed to the far room and he turned right into the spacious classroom where the children and their parents were gathered. He unconsciously flattened his bangs over his forehead to cover his fading scar when a witch nodded politely at him as she passed him by, and as he scanned the room for his children, his eyes fell upon a very familiar platinum-blond boy standing next to an even more familiar woman dressed in midnight blue robes.

Just as he hoped that she wouldn't take notice of him, Albus, who he hadn't noticed standing beside the mother and son, pointed towards Harry. Dark eyes met his own emerald ones, and he swallowed back a groan as he awaited the inevitable.

Astoria made her way towards him, Scorpius in tow and Albus following close behind, a half-smile on her face and confusion in her eyes. "Why, this is such a pleasant surprise, Mr Potter," she murmured as she held out her hand.

He had the urge to shake it, but decided against it as he brought it to his mouth and brushed his lips against her pale knuckles. "Is it really?" he asked as he held his chin high and pushed his shoulders back. "I wouldn't think so, considering my children _do_ go to school here."

"Forgive me, but that _is_ the surprise." She smiled down at Albus before refocusing her attention on Harry. "I wasn't aware that you had enrolled your children in this school."

He frowned, confused by her confusion. Had Malfoy not told her about their conversation? _Maybe not,_ he thought. _Since, technically, it was a conversation between Mind Healer and client._

"Your husband was the one who told me about it, actually," he said before he could stop himself. As he had expected, her smile faltered in the slightest before she regained her composure a moment later.

"That's… interesting. I'm afraid I had no idea."

"Well, perhaps it just skipped his mind."

"Perhaps."

There was an awkward pause as the two eyed each other wearily, before Scorpius looked up at his mother and Astoria seemed to suddenly remember that he was there. "Oh, yes, this—this is my son, Scorpius."

"Hi." Harry smiled down at the boy, who looked like a spitting image of his father. Especially since Harry was finally meeting him in person, it was almost unnerving how alike him and Malfoy were.

Scorpius mumbled a quiet hello and hid behind his mother, leaving Harry to wonder if he was the same kid who had thrown a tantrum the last time Harry had seen him. Harry then turned back to Astoria, and they remained standing by the door, smiling awkwardly at each other, till Lily ran up to him and tugged on his pants. "Yes, darling?"

"Daddy, I want!" She held up a pink stuffed doll that he was sure she had found in one of the toy boxes, her lower lip stuck out in a pout.

"Lily," he said as he squatted down and took the doll from her. "You remember what Aunt Audrey said about taking toys home from school, don't you?"

In reply, his daughter simply grabbed the doll and hugged it tightly. He sighed. "Lils, sweetheart. You can't take the toys from here back home. Don't you already have enough dolls?"

"Want _this_ one."

"I know you want that one, but you can't have it, pumpkin. Now, be a good girl and put it back where you found it."

Lily shook her head obstinately, and he bit back a sigh. "Lils—"

" _Stop it!"_

"Or what, _Pineapple?"_

"It's _Penelope!"_

He looked up to see James laughing at a very angry little girl with short, dark curls, and groaned. "James!" he yelled, and the boy's head snapped up, eyes going wide as he spotted Harry. He turned back to the girl and probably apologised, because she sniffled and walked away, albeit still looking crestfallen.

"Seriously, James," Harry said as the boy walked over to them with a sheepish expression on his face.

"She started it!" was his argument, and Harry rolled his eyes before turning back to Astoria and offering her a tight smile.

"Well, it was nice running into you, but, as you can see, I've got my hands full, so…"

Astoria nodded and stepped aside as Harry proceeded to coax the doll out of a crying Lily's hands. He sent it flying across the room and into a toy box before picking his daughter up and hoisting her on his hip. "See you later, then," he said with a nod to Astoria.

"Oh, Mr Potter?"

Gritting his teeth, he looked over his shoulder and asked as pleasantly as he could, "Yes?"

"No, it's nothing serious. Just that—don't you have an appointment with my husband this afternoon?"

She was talking so softly that he barely heard what she said, so he initially thought he had misheard her before realising that he hadn't. After a quick calculation, he decided that his next session wasn't until the next day, so he wasn't sure why Malfoy's wife had thought he had one that day.

"Oh, yeah, no, I'll be going as soon as I drop the kids home," he said just to get rid of her, and she seemed convinced, because she left him be.

Muttering a goodbye, he shepherded his kids down the hall and into the fireplace, all the while wondering why Astoria had thought that he had a session with Malfoy that day when he didn't. Had the blond told her so? If he had, why? Frowning in confusion, he knew he wasn't going to get any answers just by obsessing over something trivial.

 _Maybe I should just go ask the man himself._

* * *

 **2:17 PM**

It had taken longer than anticipated to get his little brats to eat and take a nap, but he had finally succeeded, and had decided that he would use the time he had to spare to drop in on Malfoy and question him about his wife. So that was the intention with which he stepped out of the Floo and into the blond's office, except he had to stop short because of what he saw.

There were papers everywhere, the bookshelves opposite him looked like they had been turned over and put back carelessly, and Malfoy was half sprawled across his desk, facedown, unmoving. Panic rising through him, he rushed to the desk as his Auror training kicked in.

"Malfoy?" he asked as he grabbed the man's shoulder and shook him.

At first, there was no sign of movement, but just as Harry was about to shake him again, Malfoy stirred with a groan. He pushed himself up slowly, brows pulled together in a frown and heavily lidded eyes looking around in confusion.

"What?" he mumbled incoherently before his eyes fell on Harry. It took him a few moments to process what was happening, but when he finally did, his grey eyes widened and he stared up at Harry slack-jawed.

"P-Potter?" he stammered as he attempted to smooth down his unkempt hair and clothes. "What're you doing here?"

"Sorry to have barged in without warning," Harry said, now feeling embarrassed. "But, are you alright?"

"Perfectly fine," Malfoy muttered as he looked around, as though trying to find something. "Have you seen my tie?"

Harry glanced down and found a grey, chequered tie lying by his feet. He picked it up and held it out to the blond, who looped it around his neck and tied it up without bothering to button the topmost button of his shirt or fix his bent collar.

"You look… confused," Harry commented as he watched Malfoy look at his desk and shuffle through some papers.

"I am." The blond looked up and placed his hands on his hips. "What did you say you were doing here, again?"

"Oh, it's nothing important," harry replied with a wave. "Just that I bumped into your wife in Silver Sprigs earlier today, and she seemed to think we had a session this afternoon."

Malfoy groaned and placed his palms down on the desk, letting his head fall limply as he sighed. "Right. Astoria. Silver Sprigs. Stupid, stupid."

"What's the matter with you?" Harry asked with a frown as he stepped closer to the desk. "It seems like something's really bothering you."

"'ts nothing," the blond murmured as he stood back up and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Just exhausted is all."

"You should take a break. You look terrible."

Malfoy snorted. "Thanks." He came around the desk and made towards the sofas. "Anyway, that still doesn't explain why you're here. You do know that we don't actually have a session today, right?"

"Right. But I was just curious about why you told her we did."

"Always such a busybody," Malfoy said under his breath as he Levitated the tea tray over and placed it not-so-gently on the table.

"Well, I'm sorry for being concerned," Harry replied with a huff.

The blond only gave him a tired smile as he pushed back his already rolled up sleeves and picked up a teacup. When he motioned towards the other one, Harry shook his head. "No tea for me, thanks. I've had a tad too much today."

Malfoy nodded, and they lapsed into comfortable silence as the blond sat sipping his tea, and Harry sat watching him. After several minutes of staring at the cup press against Malfoy's mouth and pull away, Harry said, "You know, if there's something troubling you, you could always talk to me."

The teacup paused an inch away from Malfoy's lips, and Harry looked up to meet silver eyes. "Now why would I do that?" the blond asked, and Harry would've taken offence at the question if there had been even the slightest hint of malice in it.

He shrugged. "You said so yourself: even Mind Healers are just human, after all. Even you, the great Draco Malfoy, could use a friend."

Malfoy's expression shifted to something darker, and it took Harry a moment to figure out what had caused it. When he realised it was the fact that he had called himself Malfoy's friend, he suddenly had the urge to spit out the first thing that came to mind so as to not cause any misunderstanding. But, before he could think of something, the other man beat him to it by saying, "Since when were we friends?"

Feeling his heart start to race, he swallowed and tried to look nonchalant. He shrugged, and when Malfoy continued to stare at him with the same, brooding expression, Harry leaned forwards and stretched his arm out. "Since just now."

The blond dropped his gaze so slowly to stare at Harry's hand that the latter felt like cutting his arm off would probably be a viable option just then. He was suddenly reminded of so many years ago, when their roles had been reversed, and Malfoy had been the one extending a hand in friendship. He wouldn't even really be surprised if the blond slapped his palm away, considering everything that transpired from a single, rejected handshake.

So it took him by surprise when Malfoy reached out, took his hand, and shook it once, an odd light shining in his grey eyes. "You know," he murmured, his voice deep. "This reminds me of the time back in our first year at Hogwarts, when I had offered my hand to you, and you had so coldly refused it."

Unconsciously tightening his grip on Malfoy's palm, as though he was worried that the blond would change his mind if he didn't, Harry laughed drily and said, "Believe me when I say I almost understood what you must've felt like back then."

"Almost," Malfoy said as he locked gazes with Harry, eyes intense and shimmering with a strange light as Harry felt the blond's grip on his hand tighten. "But not quite."

Harry's breath caught in his throat, and the longer he held Malfoy's hand across the table and stared into his crystal-clear eyes, the more he felt like he needed something desperately, otherwise he would suffocate to death. As though sensing his conflict, Malfoy loosened his hold and said in a lighter tone of voice, "I had half a mind to stand up and walk away, though. Perhaps I should've. Just to have given you a taste of your own medicine."

Harry laughed breathlessly, and when Malfoy pulled away and sat back, he held his arm out for a moment longer before sitting back and rubbing his palm on his pants. "I sure am glad you didn't."

The blond raised his eyebrows, the corners of his lips lifting in his typical smirk. "Did you really want to be friends with me that badly, Potter?"

Feeling like his heart would burst out of his chest if he didn't say what he wanted to say, he blurted out, "I did. And I still do."

Malfoy's expression shifted, his eyes widening in surprise, and he smiled that rare, gentle smile of his that could take people's breath away. "I am honoured."

Harry cleared his throat, feeling embarrassed yet glad at the same time. He nodded and leaned forwards to place his elbows on his knees and focused all his attention on Malfoy. "Well, now that that's out of the way… what ails you, my friend?"

The blond scrunched up his nose, his tone of voice disdainful when he said, "I would prefer it if you didn't keep referring to me in that way, though."

"Alright. Malfoy it is, then."

The man sat still for a moment, as though contemplating something very deeply before he leaned forwards and said in a soft voice, "You could call me Draco, if you want."

Harry pressed his lips together, Malfoy's first name echoing through his mind. _Draco. Draco. Draco._ "I could," he replied, simply because he wasn't sure if he had it in him to call the blond by his first name. He felt like if he did, then that would mean crossing a line and never being able to go back again, and he wasn't entirely sure if he was ready for that yet.

 _Why the hell are you behaving like a love-struck ten year old?_ He scolded himself. _Malfoy's called you by your given name before, so what does it matter? It's just a name._

"Well, Draco—" _Success!_ "—what's on your mind?"

Malfoy—Draco (he was going to have to start referring to the blond in that manner if he intended to get used to it) sat back, a somewhat contented smile on his face. He looked like he had won, but the delight in his eyes seemed genuine enough for Harry to let it go. "Actually," Malfoy— _Draco_ said after a moment. "I'm good."

Harry blinked. "What?"

The blond shrugged. "Somehow having this amusing conversation with you seems to have distracted me from my troubles. I feel much more relaxed than I had when you startled me awake."

"I didn't mean to startle you," Harry said quickly, his cheeks growing hot. "I was just worried is all."

Malfoy— _Draco's_ smile widened as he rose to his feet and came around to stand in front of Harry. He then held a hand out, and Harry stared at it in confusion until the man said in a voice so soft, Harry almost missed it: "You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort."

Harry looked up into eyes that were like liquid silver, and felt a lump form in his throat. As he rose to his feet and took Draco's hand, he felt like a dam had been broken, and the him who had been stuck in the past could finally flow free and unconstrained. And from the smile on Draco's face as they shook hands, he could tell that the blond felt the same way.

 _Who would've thought that just a simple handshake could fix something that had waited two decades to be fixed._

* * *

 **A/n: Aaaaand there we go. I'll bet this is one of those stories where everybody knows Harry's madly in love with Draco except for him and Draco (I mean, come on, you two. Just GET IT already!) It's funny that I'm the one saying this despite being the one writing it XD But, hey, if any of y'all have read Jostein Gaarder's _Sophie's World_ , you'll know that the characters have a lot more power over the writer than they're given credit for. (If you haven't read it, go read it! It's a brilliant book.)**

 **Anywho, I can't promise when the next update is gonna be, considering I have tons of work left before I graduate (and exams right after, ugh...) but I promise to try really hard!**

 **Do leave a review and let me know what you think! That might just inspire me to update faster! x)**

 **P.S. In case you haven't figured it out already, yes, Harry's gonna be calling Draco by his first name, thus forth, so the narration is gonna have him as Draco and not as Malfoy anymore. Woot!**

 **Thanks for reading, lovelies.**

 **Arty xx**


	26. 26 Lies: Coagulating Lies

**A/n: This chapter took me much longer than anticipated to write... sorry 'bout that. Anyway, here we go!**

* * *

 **Chapter 26**

 **Coagulating Lies**

* * *

 **[21 November 2011]**

 **4:53 PM**

He stepped out of the Floo humming a little tune under his breath and unable to keep the smile off of his face. The conversation he had with Malfoy— _Draco_ had been the best one they had ever had in the two-and-something decades they had known each other. It wasn't even like they had discussed important things. They had just spoken about their days at Hogwarts, and how they hated each other's guts. Draco admitted at some point that he had resented Harry mostly because he always stole the attention that should've rightfully been the blond's, and Harry admitted that he had just disliked Draco because he had been such a git.

Finally, when Harry had stood up to leave with the promise of returning the next day for another session, Draco's smile left Harry feeling good about everything that had happened. He had never thought the day would come when he was glad that he was friends with Draco Malfoy, but somehow he knew that deep inside he had always wanted it.

As he stepped out of his study and listened to his children's laughter coming from downstairs, his smile widened. Taking the stairs two at a time, he had just decided that he would take them to Diagon for the evening, when he entered the living room and stopped short. Eyes widening at the sight of his kids talking excitedly to his wife, who had an apron on and a tray of biscuits in her hands in a way that seemed like she had been there the whole time and had never left, he felt his heart stop.

Smile frozen on his face, it was almost in slow motion that Ginny looked up and locked eyes with him. Her grin faltered in the slightest, and a vague emotion flitted across her eyes as she stood still for a moment before addressing him.

"Harry, you're home!"

"And so are you, apparently," he muttered as she placed the biscuits down on the coffee table and came to hug him. He thought she would pull away after a brief embrace, but she only tightened her arms around him and sighed into his shoulder. Suddenly feeling uncomfortable, he pushed her away and smiled. "This is a surprise! I thought you wouldn't be back until Wednesday."

"I know," she said as she glanced at the kids. "But I managed to finish work early because I missed you guys so much and rushed back home." She hugged the trio and ruffled the boys' hair, and they giggled as they hugged her back.

"Alright, you lot," Harry said as he ushered them towards the door. "How about you go play outside for a bit and then we'll head down to Diagon?"

The trio cheered and raced outside, leaving Harry alone to deal with his wife—who he _really_ did not want to see right now. He had _finally_ managed to turn his mood around, but now the bitter taste of betrayal was back, and the more he tried to swallow past the lump in his throat, the more it choked him. He looked over his shoulder when he heard Ginny bustling about, and walked over to perch on a barstool by the kitchen counter.

"So," he said. "I reckon Angie told you about how we came to visit you the other day."

She paused in whatever she was doing for a moment before resuming in her work without looking back at him. "Yeah, I spoke to her right after I spoke to you."

Harry hummed as he placed his elbows on the counter and leaned forwards on them, staring at the back of Ginny's head. She turned around quickly, her eyes glassy, and said in a trembling voice, "I'm sorry I lied."

"About what?" he asked before he could stop himself.

She waved a hand and sniffed. "About being with the girls when I wasn't. I had no idea you were in Dorset when you called."

"That's besides the point," Harry snapped. When Ginny flinched, he consciously removed the bite from his voice as he said, "You shouldn't have lied irrespective of whether or not you knew where I was."

Ginny bowed her head. "You're right, and I'm sorry." Her voice was soft, and she looked so pitiful that Harry's resolve almost wavered.

Almost.

"Why _did_ you lie, anyway? I've racked my brain over it, but I simply can't understand your reason for telling such a stupid lie." _Are you cheating on me?_ His mind added unhelpfully.

She raised her head, the tears that had pooled in her eyes overflowing down her cheeks. "I don't know." He grit his teeth and inhaled as he sat up straight, but she continued before he could say anything. "I suppose I just didn't want to tell you that I had left to cover a story and didn't know how long it would take, or when I would be back, especially considering that being the reason we'd fought in the first place."

"So you thought _lying_ was the way to go about an already bad situation? And how exactly did that help?"

"Harry," she pleaded, looking helpless, but he was stonehearted just then. He needed answers, and Ginny was going to give them to him whether she wanted to or not.

"No. No more of this. I want to know _exactly_ where you were, and what you've been doing, and why you've been lying to my face these couple of weeks." When she withdrew slightly, he scoffed. "What, you thought I hadn't noticed? I might be obtuse at times, Ginny, but I'm not stupid."

"I never said you were."

"Yeah, but you sure have been acting like you thought as much, at the very least."

She flinched, because he was almost yelling by then, and he pushed himself off the stool, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and began to pace.

"I made a mistake, Harry, and I'm sorry." When he kept pacing without looking at her, she came around the counter to stand in front of him, forcing him to stop, and touched his arm. "Please look at me."

He raised his eyes begrudgingly and focused on her crying face. "I'll listen to what you have to say, but that doesn't mean I'm not angry," he said in a low voice.

She nodded once. "That's all I'm asking."

He turned away and walked to the sofas. Falling back in his favourite armchair, he waited till she had settled down before eyeing her expectantly. She took in a deep breath before starting.

"You know how I've been following leads on that drug story of the Kestrals' Captain for a while?" Harry nodded, and Ginny continued; "Well, I've been trying to get in contact with him for weeks, now, just to get the real story out of him, and he finally broke down and agreed to meet me on Saturday. So as soon as the match ended, I bid the girls a quick goodbye and went off to see O'Hare. But, I reckon someone else got to him in-between the time he agreed to meet me and me going to see him, because he never showed up. I waited all evening, and had finally decided to give up when he gave me a call from a phone booth and told me that he would meet me first thing in the morning."

She paused and shrugged, looking tired. "He sounded frazzled, and I knew that the chances of him actually showing up were slim, but there was still a minute possibility, and I was willing to spend the night in a roadside inn if it meant finally being able to write the piece I've spent months researching about. He'd said to meet him in some café, so I was there a whole hour earlier than the promised time, hoping beyond hope that he would show up." She paused and shrugged again. "He didn't come. I waited till lunchtime, and finally gave up. I felt utterly foolish for not only lying to you, but for wasting an entire day on chasing after some fellow who could just as well be an addict instead of spending it with you and the kids."

She sighed, looking frustrated with herself and the whole situation, and Harry felt conflicted about whether or not he should believe her. If there was one thing Ginny had gotten excellent at over the years, it was hiding things, and that had come in handy on multiple occasions before, during the war, and after it, especially since he was such a terrible liar himself. But, now, the fact that he knew that wasn't helping the situation in the least. He wanted to believe her, he really did, but something was telling him that he shouldn't let her off so easy.

"Alright," he finally said with a nod when she continued to eye him expectantly.

"Alright, what?"

"Alright, I listened to what you had to say, and now I'm going to go freshen up and change so I can take the kids out," he replied as he rose to his feet and made his way to the doorway.

"You don't believe me, do you?"

The only reason he paused and looked over his shoulder at her was because of the tone of disbelief in her voice. _Is it really that surprising?_

"I'm not sure, yet."

"I don't believe this!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air.

 _Merlin knows why,_ he thought to himself.

"You know, I agree that I lied and I shouldn't have, and I apologised, but it's not like you're entirely out of blame here, either," she said angrily.

He motioned with his hands. "Alright, fine, let's hear it, then."

She raised her shoulders as she inhaled and let them slump. "Well, for starters, you've been lying about your nightmares, too."

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he bowed his head and nodded. "Yes, I pretended like my nightmares weren't back even when I knew you knew they were because I didn't want to worry you any more than I had to, especially since you worrying wouldn't help in any way except make me feel worse than I already did. But, you're right, I shouldn't have lied, and I'm sorry. Anything else?"

It was probably how calm he was, or the fact that he had so readily apologised, but he could see that Ginny was surprised that he hadn't put up more of a fight. "W-Well, what about the kids' school? You should've waited for me to get back instead of making what should've been a joint decision on your own!"

He nodded again. "You're right. I should've waited for you, and I would've, if you hadn't been so vague about when you were returning home. Everyone's been pestering me about when the kids were starting school again, and with your job not allowing you to give me any concrete information on how long you would be away, I decided that it was time I took matters into my own hands. Besides, I _did_ talk to you about it before we fought, remember?"

She seemed to have deflated more and more with every sentence he spoke, and he could see that she had nothing to say in response. She just looked exhausted, and that was probably one of the reasons for her lack of appropriate retorts, but mostly she just looked like she didn't care one way or another as long as they had settled things. And when she said what she did next, he knew he was right.

"Look, Harry, you're right. Things have been all over the place of late, and we've both said and done stupid things we didn't mean to, so let's just forget it and move on, OK? Don't let's fight any more, please."

He had half a mind to reject her offer, but he was too much of a pacifist to prolong what had already been a very lengthy fight, so he sighed and held his arms out. She all but jumped into his embrace with a little sob, and he felt the lump return to the back of his throat as he kissed her hair. He couldn't bring himself to forgive her completely just yet, and she probably felt conflicted about the whole affair as well, but they were both much too sick and tired of fighting to bother with it anymore.

The sound of the front door opening and their kids' shouts effectively ended the moment, and they broke apart as the trio trooped into the room. "Are we going already?" James asked when he spotted them by the door.

"Just as soon as you get cleaned up and dressed," Ginny replied as she ushered them out of the room.

Lily started to tell her mum about the flowers she picked, and Ginny glanced back at Harry with a small, uncertain smile before disappearing up the stairs, leaving Harry to wonder if he had done the right thing, and if things would go back to normal, now.

 _But what_ _ **is**_ _normal?_

* * *

 **[22 November 2011]**

 _It was raining, and his younger self was standing in the middle of the Quidditch pitch at Hogwarts, Firebolt in one hand and Snitch in the other. He was squinting up at the lightning streaked sky as the stormy clouds rumbled and droplets of rain splattered against his glasses. He knew he was waiting for something, but he wasn't sure what. After a time, he could faintly hear a voice calling his name over the sound of the thunder and the rain, and he looked over his shoulder to see a younger Draco running towards him, Slytherin robes plastered to his sides._

 _As he got closer, Harry could tell that something was wrong. Draco's grey eyes were wide and fearful, and there was a red welt on his cheek, as though someone had slapped him. "Harry," the blond gasped as he reached Harry and threw himself at him. "Help me!"_

 _"Draco? What's wrong?"_

 _"They'll kill me! You've got to stop them! They'll kill me!"_

 _"Calm down. Who'll kill you? Draco, who'll—"_

 _"Harry James Potter, you get away from that slimy git this instant!"_

 _He looked up to see a younger Hermione, Ron and Ginny standing several feet away, wands pointed at Harry and Draco, and murderous expressions on their faces._

 _"Hermione? What's going on?"_

 _"We're going to kill the git, that's what's going on!"_

 _Ron charged towards them, and Harry and Draco dodged out of the way as a spell shot past._

 _"Stop it! Are you off your rocker?"_

 _"Why're you taking **his**_ _side?" Ginny questioned, a suspicious frown on his face. "I thought you were on **our**_ _side!"_

 _"I'm not taking sides!" Harry yelled. "I want to know what's going on!"_

 _"We're only trying to get rid of a nuisance is all," Hermione replied calmly as she stepped forwards. "Aren't you glad that he'll finally be gone?"_

 _Draco whimpered and hid behind Harry, who held an arm out and watched his friends wearily. "I don't know what you lot are playing at, but it isn't funny."_

 _"Oh, for the love of all things that are holy, let me finish this!" Ron pushed past Hermione and Ginny and waved his wand at Draco and Harry. "Move out of the way!"_

 _Harry was just as adamant. "No!"_

 _Ron's expression turned cold. "Then so be it. Avada Kedavra!"_

* * *

 **12:22 PM**

"I'll go get the kids from school, you finish unpacking."

Ginny looked up from the pile of clothes she was rummaging through and frowned. "Sweetheart, you only just got home. Go sit down and drink some tea or something, I'll go get them."

"You've never been there before."

"No, but I spoke to Audrey this morning, so it should be fine."

"But—"

"Harry, really," she said as she walked over to him. "As their mother, the least I can do is bring them home from school. Besides, if I don't go today, I'll end up going tomorrow anyway to meet the rest of the staff and parents."

He cleared his throat and nodded, but he couldn't help the sense of trepidation that settled within him as she smiled and walked out of the room. _What if she bumps into Astoria?_ He thought. _Or even worse, what if she meets Draco?_

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he willed the telltale signs of a headache away. He was just about to leave the bedroom when there was a squawk, and Pig came swooping in through the open window. He ducked as the bloody bird flew right at him, depositing a letter on top of him before flying out. He heard Ginny greet it from the next room and grumbled under his breath as he straightened up and opened the letter.

It was a report from Buxley summarising the interrogation of the two wizards they'd brought in for questioning earlier that day. Apparently they were just another bunch of rebellious teenagers trying to follow the Muggle trend called 'punk' or something, and really didn't have anything to do with the group of vandals. Harry sighed as he scratched his chin and wondered what to do. It had been months since they had received multiple vandal cases, but none of their leads had gotten anywhere. The current generation of wizarding youth coupled with the Muggles continued to throw their investigation for a toss.

 _Reckon I better go back just in case…_

He sighed as he walked down the hallway and into his study, where Ginny was busy crooning to Pig. "That bloody bird better not shit on my desk again," he said as he grabbed a fistful of Floo powder.

"I thought I told you I was going," Ginny said as she came up behind him and grabbed his wrist. "Are you coming, too?"

"No, I'm going back to the office to check up on something."

"But you just got home…"

"I know, but I can't really help it, now, can I? Besides, since you're going to Silver Sprigs, I may as well get some work done."

"I suppose," Ginny mumbled as she let go of his wrist and stood with her arms crossed, a faraway look in her eyes and a small frown etched into her forehead.

"Gin?"

"Hm?"

"You OK?"

"Yeah. Just thinking about work is all."

"Don't stress over it too much. I'm sure it'll be fine," he said as he caressed her cheek with his free hand. She sighed and leaned in to the touch. "Well, I better be off." He stepped into the Floo, and just before he threw the powder down, he said, "Oh, and be sure not to let the manager catch a hold of you, or you'll be there all day."

"I'll remember that."

With a nod, he threw down the powder and said, "Ministry of Magic."

* * *

 **4:47 PM**

"And that's the last of it."

Both him and Buxley sighed in unison as the latter tossed his clipboard onto Harry's desk and sat back with a groan. "I'm telling you, boss, these guys are either too smart or too stupid to get caught. I dunno how they're covering up their tracks, but they're doing one helluva job of it."

Harry placed his elbows on the desk, clasped his hands together, and leaned his forehead against them. "You know I hate butting into your cases, Buxley, but maybe I should take a look at everything you've found so far just to see if we missed something."

His deputy frowned. "You mean to see if _I_ missed something."

"Buxley—"

"No, you're right." He pushed himself out of the chair and picked up his clipboard, sounding old and worn. "I'll get Rogers to come down to your office and hand over the records."

"There won't be any handing over happening, Buxley," Harry said as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Rogers and I will sit together and go through everything one case file at a time, and if at all we find any leads, we'll let you know."

"Right. I'll be heading home, then."

"Say hello to the Missus for me."

Buxley nodded and exited the office, leaving Harry to stare at the closed door dejectedly. Ever since his return from the hospital, Buxley had been rather subdued and barely put up a fight about anything. The man had lost a significant amount of weight, and the bags under his eyes were pronounced. He came to the office later than usual and left earlier than usual, and if he wasn't behind his desk, poring over old records, he could be seen shuffling about, muttering under his breath. He was a ghost of his former self, and Harry felt terribly guilty about it. He almost couldn't wait for Buxley's son to complete his training so Harry could appoint him to assist his father full-time.

With a deep sigh, he turned back to the documents on his desk and flipped through them. They were the usual paperwork: formal case requests, records from the archives, an odd letter or two that had found their way into the pile, and his favourite: final documents that closed older cases for good. He signed them without really paying much attention to the contents, and sent them flying out of the room to be dispatched to their respective recipients.

He leaned back and stretched, checked his watch, and decided that it was time for his session with Draco. Unconsciously humming a little tune under his breath as he rose from his chair, he pulled on his coat, picked up his wand, and exited the office, the anticipation of seeing Draco again making him feel like a child waiting to visit a dear friend.

* * *

 **5:17 PM**

"Oh, did I mention that Astoria happened to run into your wife today?"

Harry froze, his heart beginning to race as he stared at Draco wide-eyed, awaiting the continuation to the dreaded tale. "Apparently Ginny came up to her and introduced herself. Astoria said she wasn't entirely sure if Ginny knew who she was, and that she must've just spoken to her as she had with all the other parents."

He exhaled the breath he hadn't known he was holding as he shook his head and said, "I was afraid that would happen."

Draco tilted his head to the side, silver eyes shining with curiosity. "And why is that?"

Harry shrugged. "Call me paranoid, but I don't think our wives becoming friends is exactly in our best interest."

Draco chuckled. "Worry not, because Astoria is generally wary when it comes to meeting new people, especially if the other person is the great Harry Potter's wife."

Harry scoffed as he sipped his tea. Somehow, sitting across from Malfoy— _Draco_ and drinking tea had become a part of his everyday routine. So much so, that he couldn't help but worry if it would have dire consequences on his life when his sessions with the blond ended.

"Harry?"

Hearing Draco say his name still sent shivers down his spine, and made his skin tingle. Especially since the blond said it in this soft tone of voice that was almost a murmur, and it made Harry feel hyperaware of both himself and the other man for some reason. _Stop it,_ he scolded himself as he swallowed thickly and smiled. "Yes?"

"If you're worried that Astoria might accidentally mention this—" he motioned between them, "—you don't have to. She signed a clause when Antares was formed, just like the rest of us, that was similar to the forms you were made to sign. She is bound by her contract to remain silent. Besides, beyond the fact that she knows you're my client, she doesn't know anything else."

Harry frowned at that. "But how come she knew about our session when I spoke with her yesterday?"

The blond bowed his head with a sigh. "That… was my mistake." When he offered no more of an explanation, Harry cocked an eyebrow. Draco shrugged and said nonchalantly, "We had a fight, and I used you as an excuse to get out of it."

Taken aback, he just eyed Draco with obvious surprise till the man laughed and shook his head. "No need to look so shocked. I'm an ordinary man, just as you said, and even I need a break sometimes."

"Is that going to become your excuse for everything from now on?"

Draco only grinned as he sat back and crossed one leg over the other, exuding an air of superiority as he watched Harry with sparkling grey eyes. "Perhaps."

Harry snorted as he finished his tea and put his cup down.

"Anyway," the blond said, his expression turning solemn. "How are you doing?"

Although he hadn't said it explicitly, the question was fairly obvious: _How are things between you and your wife?_

"I'm not entirely sure... yet," he replied as he shifted in his seat.

"Oh?"

"Well, I did come out and directly ask Ginny why she'd been lying to me, but I still think she's hiding something from me."

"And why do you think that?"

Harry shrugged. "Because I'm still hiding something from her."

Malfoy nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face. "You seem to be processing all of this far more calmly than I anticipated."

"I'm pretty surprised by it, too, but I think we've just reached an impasse where we're trying to maintain the equilibrium. I won't probe harder than I feel entitled to, and vice versa." He ran a hand through his hair as he looked past Draco and said, "I suppose there are just some things you can't tell another person, irrespective of how close you are."

When he looked back at Draco, the blond's expression had turned into a brooding one. "That is a very wise conclusion you have reached."

"Well, I reckon things will only continue to get rocky from here on out, but I think as long as we're faithful to each other and don't stop trusting one another, it should still be alright."

Draco uncrossed his legs and leaned forwards, his eyes stormy. "And how do you know when to stop?"

Harry frowned. "Stop what?"

"Stop lying."

Throat dry, he took a moment to consider that before laughing shakily. "I think it's already too late, now, to stop."

Draco sat back, his expression mirroring how Harry felt. "I'm afraid to say you may be right."

* * *

 **A/n: There we go! Relatively short chapter since nothing too major happened her (other than Ginny coming home and that rather shocking nightmare *evil laugh*), and it was meant as more of a transitional chapter than anything.**

 **As always, let me know what you think, because, believe it or not, I do take a lot of your views in the reviews seriously and make it a point to add it into the upcoming chapters so as to clear your confusion, in case you've noticed. Thanks for all your love so far, and from the pace this story is going, I can promise you that it isn't going to end any time soon. There's a whole lot of stuff left, so look forward to that.**

 **Thank you for reading, lovelies!**

 **Lots of Love~**

 **Arty xx**


	27. 27 Lies: Turmoil

**A/n: Before you begin this chapter, I just wanted to inform you that the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition begins the Sunday after this, and I intend to write as many Drarrys as possible for it, so just a heads up to all you Drarry lovers- because if things go my way, you should be getting a new Drarry one-shot every few weeks. Now, onto the main stuff.**

* * *

 **Chapter 27**

 **Turmoil**

* * *

 **[23 November 2011]**

 **12:17 PM**

"I'm really sorry about this, Harry. Even after I promised I would go and everything…"

He waved a hand as he pulled his coat off the sofa's armrest and turned to Ginny with a smile. "You have work, so don't worry about it." He pecked her on the lips before walking to the fireplace. "Besides, now I have a valid excuse to go late to the office."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "You're the Head Auror. You don't _need_ an excuse."

He grinned at her. "That's true. Well, stand by for the munchkins."

"Make sure they're tucked in tight!"

"I will, I will," he said as he threw down the Floo powder. "Silver Sprigs Montessori."

He closed his eyes as the familiar warping sensation followed by a wave of nausea hit him. Before he could get accustomed to the discomfort, he had reached his destination. Stepping out of the Floo, he greeted the chirpy receptionist and headed over to where he could here the cheerful chatter of children.

Poking his head into the room, he scanned the area and found James in the centre of one group, deep in discussion, Lily in the centre of another, busy narrating a story to the older girls who were listening with rapt attention, and in the far corner of the room, Albus, who was playing potions with none other than Scorpius Malfoy. He walked over to the two boys with a smile on his face.

"Hi, Al. Looks like you made a new friend."

Both boys looked up, and Albus nodded before turning to the blond seated beside him. "Daddy, this is Scorpius. He likes potions too."

Scorpius turned to eye Harry hesitantly before saying, "Mummy lets me watch when she experiments."

Harry squatted down in front the little cauldron they were playing with. "I see. Sounds fascinating. Well, Al, ready to go home?"

"Already? We only _just_ started!"

Harry reached forward and ruffled his son's hair. Albus was the quieter of the trio, and generally took a longer time to open up and make friends, so it reassured Harry to see that he was getting along fine with the rest of the kids. "Sorry, champ. But maybe Scorpius can come home some time, and you can continue playing potions."

Albus turned to his friend with shining eyes, and the other boy looked up and past Harry as he asked, "Can I, Daddy?"

His heart almost stilled when he heard the smooth, silky voice behind him say, "Of course, son."

Looking over his shoulder, he couldn't stop the grin that spread across his face. "Fancy meeting you here."

Draco winked at Harry (instantly making Harry's stomach flip) as he drawled, "Quite a happy coincidence, isn't it?"

"Very," Harry replied as he rose to his feet. "I foresee more such fortunate run-ins in the near future."

"Perhaps." Draco came to stand beside Harry and stretched his arm out in front of him. "Scorpius." The boy took his father's hand and stood up, dusting his pants as he did.

"Daddy, when can I go play with Al?"

Silver eyes turned to meet emerald ones as Draco said, "Well, I suppose Mr Potter and I will have to make a date out of it."

"Definitely," Harry replied almost instantaneously.

The edges of Draco's mouth curved up in half a smirk, and Harry felt his breath catch in his throat. He swallowed, barely managing to keep the smile on his face from faltering. His heart was pounding a rhythm in his chest, and he couldn't, for the life of him, figure out why it was that he reacted to Draco in this way. He had been catching himself noticing the smallest things about the man of late, and he thought it was because he had never really had the opportunity to memorise all of the blond's gestures and mannerisms before because he had been too busy hating him.

 _Although, there_ _was_ _the time back in sixth year when I so completely obsessed with him…_

A flush rose to his cheeks at the memory, and Draco tilted his head curiously. _Stop staring, Harry,_ he scolded himself as he dropped his gaze to watch his son and cleared his throat.

"I have a real, actual cauldron in my house," Scorpius was telling Albus. "You can brew potions in it and everything."

Harry glanced at Draco with raised eyebrows, and the latter simply shrugged before saying, "He seems to have inherited Astoria's and my passion for potion-making."

Albus tugged on Harry's sleeve, and Harry looked down into wide, sparkling green eyes much like his own. He could sense his son's excitement without the boy having to say a word.

But, before he could say anything, Draco said, "You should come home, then. I'm sure you'll love Scorpius's potions set."

Albus stared at Draco like he was Father Christmas come for an early visit. "Can I?" He then turned to Harry and pulled on his sleeve. "Daddy, can I?"

"Sure. If Mr Malfoy has no problem with it, why not?"

They watched as the two boys cheered, and Albus hugged Harry and thanked him, by which time the other two had arrived, curious about the excitement.

"What's going on?" James questioned as he and Lily came to stand beside Harry, hand in hand.

"I'm going to Scorpius's house to play with his cauldron this weekend!" Albus declared.

"Wait, Al—"

"You can stay over, too! My bedroom is _huge!"_ Scorpius added, and Draco tried to interrupt with a "Scorpius, let us discuss this with your mother, first," but failed as the two boys danced around excitedly.

Harry sighed. Although Albus was slow to make friends, once he grew attached to someone, he would stop at nothing to get his way. Harry watched as James frowned and told his younger brother that he would be spending the weekend over at a friend's, too.

"Who?" Albus asked as he crossed his arms.

"Yeah, who?" Lily and Harry repeated.

James stuck his lower lip out defiantly as he scanned the room and called to one of the boys. "Hey, Adam! Let's have that Quidditch match at your house this Saturday!"

The boy named Adam nodded in approval, making Harry wonder if all these kids just made decisions for themselves without bothering to ask their parents, first.

"There," James said, crossing his own arms.

"Me too, me too!" Lily began, bouncing on the spot.

"Alright. That's enough, you three," Harry cut in before his kids convinced anybody else to spend the weekend at a friend's place. "First, we're going back home. Then, we're going to talk to your mother. _Then,_ we'll see about this whole sleeping over at a friend's place thing."

"But _Dad,"_ Albus whined. "You _said_ I could go!"

"Yeah, Mr Potter," Scorpius added, "you _said_ he could go!"

Harry shot Draco a look, and the blond only chuckled before saying, "Scorpius, we shall discuss this at length at home. Come." And with a nod and a smile to Harry, he strode out of the room, looking as regal as ever.

Harry then turned to his kids. "Now, your mum's waiting for you at home, so you're going to take the Floo back by yourselves—"

"By ourselves?" James asked with an excited grin.

"Yes, by yourselves. But only if you promise to—"

"We promise!" the three declared before Harry could even finish, causing the latter to sigh.

"Alright, then. Let's go."

"Come on, troops!" James yelled, and the trio marched out the door just as Audrey walked in.

"Looks like the kids have settled in just fine," she said as he reached her.

"Thank you so much for this, really," he replied, earning a kind smile from her.

"Always, Harry." She nodded over her shoulder. "Best you go after them, otherwise they may just take off on the brooms parked outside."

When he stared at her in alarm, she only laughed and walked away with a pat on his arm, leaving him to shake his head and rush to where his kids were.

"Alright, you lot. Do exactly as I say if you don't want to lose an arm and a leg."

* * *

 **4:22 PM**

"Sir, you asked to see me?"

Harry waved his hand without looking up from the file he was reading. When the man came to stand by the desk, Harry motioned to the chair opposite him. "Take a seat." He put the file down and looked up at the tired-looking brunet. "How's it going, Rogers?"

The man bowed his head, looking shameful. "Not good, sir."

"No new leads at all?"

"None, sir." He nodded to the file on Harry's desk. "Did you manage to find anything?"

Harry sighed and sat back. "I am genuinely disappointed to say no. At least if we found something because of an error, that would still be better than sitting on our thumbs, doing nothing."

Rogers nodded despondently. Harry scratched his chin. This was going nowhere.

After a moment's consideration, he said, "How about you just lay off it for a while?"

The man looked up, his surprise clear in his hazel eyes. "Sir?"

Harry shrugged. "Breaking our heads over a case that isn't going anywhere won't solve anything. Instead, just leave it aside for now, until you find something substantial enough to resume your investigation."

"Sir," Rogers said warily as he shifted in his seat. "I don't mean to sound presumptuous, but isn't us giving up exactly what those criminals want?"

"Rogers," Harry began in a patient voice, "we barely even know if these so-called criminals are anything more than a group of rebellious teenagers. Besides, why go through the repeated process of arresting and setting free a bunch of people who have little to nothing to do with this case? Isn't that just a whole horde of unnecessary paperwork for you and your men?"

Rogers bowed his head, looking chastised. Harry couldn't help but smile at the younger wizard's honesty. He understood why the man wasn't thrilled about letting go of his very first case. "How about I make you a fair trade in exchange for you setting aside this case?"

The brunet looked up with an earnest expression on his face. Harry's smile widened as he leaned forwards and said, "The newest set of recruits should be coming in tomorrow. How about you take charge of settling them in and supervise them for the rest of the week?"

When Rogers didn't look too sure of his new assignment, Harry added, "Your final report will be taken into full consideration while allocating the recruits to their squads. You'll also be given the freedom to choose the best ones into your unit, if you so please."

That seemed to perk the fellow up, and he nodded enthusiastically. Harry sat back and eyed the brunet. "The previous supervisor was Buxley, as you know, so you have some rather large shoes to fill. I hope you're up for the task."

"Sir, yessir!" Rogers saluted smartly, and Harry chuckled.

"That's good, then. Go send in a report about the decision made regarding the case to Buxley, with an attached copy to the DMLE, and inform your men that their other assignments can take precedence till such time that you can resume the case."

"Yessir! Thank you, sir!"

He watched the man stride out of his office and turned back to his paperwork. If there was one thing he had learned from working closely with Robards for so many years, it was that the saying 'haste makes waste' was absolutely true. Considering the nature of an Auror's work, trying to rush and solve cases without enough information had proven to be fatal many a time in the past, and Harry refused to make the same mistakes all over again.

As he was looking through one of his men's reports, there was a knock on the door and Hermione poked her head in.

"Do you have a minute?"

"For you, always," he said as he used the opportunity to take a break. Hermione smiled as she came to sit opposite him.

"So, I heard the trainees are coming in tomorrow."

"Yeah, they are. Apparently we got an efficient lot this time around. They completed their training a month earlier than planned."

Hermione nodded as she looked down at her clipboard. Ever since she had joined the DMLE, no matter where she went, she always had that clipboard with her. It had almost become like another limb, and Harry had his fun teasing her about it.

"Buxley's son's in that batch, isn't he?" she asked as she ran a finger down a list of names. "Ryan, I think his name is."

Harry nodded with a sigh. "I'm glad that he's done with his training. While it'll still be some time before I can assign him to help his dad, I still have high hopes for the lad."

"Of course you do. He's the second best in his batch, and got one of the highest scores from the external evaluators. Very impressive set of skills, he's got."

"Second best? Who's first?" Harry asked, curious. If he remembered correctly, the last time Buxley had mentioned Ryan, he had also taken a moment to brag about his son being the best of the trainees.

"A girl called Alyssa Henley. She joined in six months late because she was still schooling, but due to the amazing recommendations she received from her professors at Hogwarts, and her high score in the preliminary aptitude test, she was allowed to enrol for the training. I was curious so I went through some of her essays, and she is rather impressive."

Harry hummed thoughtfully. "For you to speak so highly of her, she really must be gem."

Hermione shrugged a shoulder. "Well, I reckon you'll see for yourself once she arrives. Who have you appointed to supervise them?"

"Rogers."

She looked up sharply and pressed her lips together. "That fellow who nearly burned down the archives a month after he joined the force?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Are you _still_ holding a grudge over that?"

"I nearly lost my job because of his _accident!"_

"No, you didn't. You just turned in your report a little later than intended. You exaggerate far too much."

Hermione huffed, going red in the face. "Well _excuse me_ for not caring for a clumsy oaf who can't even do a simple warming spell right. _How_ he got selected is beyond me."

"He's a decent chap, 'Mione. And a hard worker, too. Don't give him such a hard time." When she continued to glare at him, he added, "Besides, I reckon he was more scarred by that event than you were."

She sniffed and settled back in her seat. "Anyway." She tapped the clipboard. "Byron's the in charge this time, and he sent me to find out if all was going according to plan."

When the name didn't ring a bell, Harry asked, "Byron?"

Hermione shot him a look. "Jacob Byron, my— _our—_ boss. I would think it's high time you started remembering the names of your superiors, Harry."

"Ah." Harry nodded. " _That_ Byron. I thought you were talking about my Byron."

"Who's _your_ Byron?"

"Byron Li," Harry said, "the new technician down at forensics."

She let out a deep sigh before saying, "His name is _Brian,_ Harry. How is it that I know your subordinates and superiors better than you do?"

Harry frowned. "I thought he was Byron! We always call him Li, so I never really bothered to find out if his first name was Bryon or not."

Hermione wasn't impressed in the least. "Clearly."

Harry made a face at her, to which Hermione rolled her eyes. "Anyway, how're the kids finding their new school?"

"Oh, they love it. Al made a new friend, today, in fact. He's going over to spend the weekend."

"That's wonderful! Who's the strapping young lad that won Al's heart?"

Harry opened his mouth and almost said _Scorpius Malfoy_ before catching himself. He panicked for a moment, wondering what to say, when Hermione continued to eye him curiously.

"Harry?"

"Er. I forget his name. I think it was Adam something-or-the-other."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Why am I not surprised? Well, hopefully you remember it at least by the time Albus is ready to go to Hogwarts."

He laughed shakily. "I'll do my best."

She nodded and rose to her feet, clipboard under her arm and quill stuffed into her bun. "Well, I best be off. My work isn't going to do itself. Well, it is, but it needs supervision. See you later, Harry."

"Later, 'Mione." He raised his hand as she waved and ducked out of the door, leaving him to swallow back the knot in his throat.

He had just realised: if he couldn't bring himself to tell Hermione about Scorpius, how in heaven's name would he not only tell Ginny about it, but convince her to let Albus spend the weekend at the Malfoys'?

 _She's never going to let him go,_ his mind told him, and he agreed.

Before he could deliberate any more over the matter, there was knock on the door and an Auror poked his head in. "Sir, I have the deputy's report for you."

Harry waved the man in and tried to focus on the work at hand, leaving his dilemma for a later time.

* * *

 **9:48 PM**

He groaned as he stumbled out of the Floo, completely wiped out. He flung his coat on the sofa and shuffled out of his study, yawning as he made his way downstairs. There was some mix-up with some documents in the DMLE, leading things to unnecessarily be blown out of proportion, and by the time he had taken care of the matter, it had already gotten so late.

"I'm home," he called as he walked into the living room. Ginny was sitting in his favourite armchair, reading, and stood up to give him a hug.

"Everything OK at the office?" she asked as he fell back in the armchair with a groan.

He nodded. When she asked if he wanted a hot cup of tea, he nodded again, and she bustled off to brew some for him.

He had sent her an owl earlier that evening letting her know that he would be home late, since he had anticipated that things would take a while to be sorted out. Although, it had given him some relief that the eventual confrontation would take place later than sooner; he had realised that Albus would have told her about Scorpius the moment the kids had gotten home, giving her enough time to consider it.

She returned with his tea, handing it to him and sitting down on the sofa. He could feel her gaze on him as he closed his eyes and sipped his tea, sighing at the warmth that coursed through him. Neither spoke for a while, and once he was relaxed enough, he asked, "Kids asleep?"

Ginny hummed in response as she crossed her legs and leaned towards him. He eyed the swirling liquid in his cup as he awaited what was to come.

"So, Al told me all about his new friend and how you promised he could go and spend the weekend at Scorpius Malfoy's house."

She stressed on the word _Malfoy_ , as though trying to prove a point, and he finally looked up to meet her stormy brown eyes. "Yeah. Seems like a good kid."

Ginny nodded, but didn't say anything. After a while, she leaned forward to pick up her book from the table. "Al said as much about both father and son."

Feeling his heart begin to race, he took a sip of his tea before nodding. "'S that right?"

She looked up sharply, accusation burning in her eyes. "You met Draco Malfoy?"

"Happened to bump into him by chance. I was pretty surprised, too." It wasn't a lie. He _had_ bumped into Draco by coincidence, and he _had_ been surprised.

Ginny studied him carefully, as though trying to figure something out. After a moment, she said, "You seem to be oddly relaxed about running into somebody you loathed for all your years at Hogwarts."

He could hear the suspicion in her words, but he had used all the time he had on hand that day to practice for this situation. "Well, I reckon it's because I've happened to meet him a few times since then, during press conferences and the like, and during that whole fiasco about the verdict of his trial being overturned." He looked Ginny in the eye as he said his next words. "He's changed, Gin. For the better."

She didn't respond immediately. She simply sat back and stared at the book in her lap for a long time. So long, that the silence was quickly becoming unbearable. "Ginny—"

"I'm not sending Albus to Malfoy Manor." She looked up, and the intensity of her gaze stopped him from saying what he wanted to. "I don't know what sort of person Malfoy is now, and if he _has_ actually changed as you seem to think, and while I did meet his wife and found her to be a rather gentle and likeable person, just the thought of sending our son to that place…" she trailed off with a shudder.

"I know why you're worried, sweetheart—" he began in a soothing voice, but was cut off.

"No, you don't, Harry." She shook her head, her eyes looking suspiciously moist. "The fact that the boy's father is Draco Malfoy, the son of that tyrant Lucius Malfoy, barely bothers me as much as the thought of Albus being in that _house."_ Before he could figure out what she was trying to say, she continued, "Hermione told me about what you all had to go through in that place, back when we were still undergoing therapy." Her voice had gone so quiet; it was barely above a whisper. "And just the thought of my baby boy in the same place—" her voice broke, and she shook her head again. "It terrifies me beyond reason."

He swallowed thickly as he stood up and went to sit beside her. Of all the possible scenarios he had thought of, Ginny being reasonable had been one of the unlikelier ones. And he couldn't even argue against her logical explanation. He had deliberated over Albus going to the Manor, and if he hadn't known Draco as well as he did, the very thought of that would have made him sick. But he _did_ know Draco, and even Astoria, to some extent, and he knew that Albus would be as safe as could be. That was the sole reason he had even agreed in the first place.

"Gin," he murmured as he hugged her close and pressed his lips to her hair. "I know why you're reluctant. Trust me, I know better than anyone. But, don't you think that's exactly _why_ we should let him go?"

Ginny pulled away and looked up at him, confusion swimming in her dark eyes. "What do you…?"

He shrugged. "You know my nightmares are back," when she nodded, he continued, "and while dealing with them, the conclusion I came to was that maybe they never fully went away because I never completely dealt with my trauma from the past." She frowned, a contemplative look on her face. "Maybe this is our chance to _finally_ move past all of those terrible things—to finally be free from the terror of those memories."

Her eyes widened, and he could see that she thought what he was saying made sense. She opened her mouth, making to speak, but then shut it again before swallowing thickly. "Maybe you're right," she whispered after a moment, "but I don't think I'm brave enough to just send my baby off to that place for the whole weekend. I'll be sick with worry. Just the thought of it is making me feverish."

He watched her, wondering why she was reacting so strongly. _It's almost as if she was there…_

Eyes widening, he drew back and asked, "Ginny, did Hermione _show_ you her memories?"

When she only bit her lip in response, her cheeks flushed and tears pooling in her eyes, he felt a knot form in his stomach. _Lord have mercy…_

One of the promises he had made to himself after the war was that he would make sure the people he loved never had to go through what he had gone through. And Hermione showing Ginny her memories defeated the whole purpose of his oath. He had heard that the viewer's emotions could be affected by what the person whose memories they were seeing were feeling at the time of Legilimency. And sometimes, those emotions could be amplified—which could explain why Ginny was so shaken up by the whole thing.

He sighed as he pulled her close and placed his chin atop her head. Although he hadn't anticipated the current situation, he had come up with various solutions for what could have happened, one of which seemed appropriate for just then.

"Well, although your reasoning is justified, Al would be very upset if we refused to send him. He's really looking forward to this." He pulled back and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. "So, how about we do this: we only send him over for a day, and I'll go along with Al and spend the couple of hours with him so you have nothing to worry about."

Ginny brushed her hand across her eyes. Harry waited, the anticipation of rejection building up within him. But, to his surprise, she only sighed and said, "I think… I need to sleep on it."

Harry nodded and stood up with her. "It's always a good idea to sleep on your problems."

"Not always," she said as she shot him a knowing look over her shoulder, and he bowed his head.

"Touché."

* * *

 **A/n: Aaand that's that. I initially wasn't sure how Ginny would react to the whole thing because Ginny's a difficult character for me to write (I haven't quite gotten into her head just yet), but then I decided that she would probably be more reasonable about it. I didn't want to write her as being this completely unreasonable person that just makes you wonder why Harry married her in the first place. So, there we go.**

 **Well, that's all from me. Exams start from Monday, so let's hope that I manage to update some time soon.**

 **Thanks for reading, lovelies. As always, let me know what you thought.**

 **Lots of love~**

 **Arty xx**


	28. 28 Lies: Slow Shift

**A/n: Before you skip past this, DON'T! I HAVE A _HUGE_ ANNOUNCEMENT! So about two weeks ago a dear fan of this story, Chloe PR China, sent me a message asking if she could translate this story into Chinese so Chinese Drarry fans would be able to read it as well. And of course I said yes because WOW! (Well, I tried to link it, but apparently FFN won't let me, which is absolutely terrible, so for those of you who would like to read it, or know someone who would, I have linked it in my profile, so do check it out!)**

 **Thank you so, so, so much, Chloe! This is the most amazing thing ever, and I am so thoroughly thrilled that all of you are enjoying this story so much!**

 **I have another little announcement to make (sorry not sorry orz). Since Season 4 of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition has begun, I have made up my mind to write as many Drarry one-shots as possible through the course of it, and if things go my way, I should be posting one Drarry a month for the next six months along with updating this story. I have already posted one; it's called An Unlikely Friendship and has its premise taken from this story itself, so... *nudges* go check it out?**

 **Aaaand that's about. I won't keep you away from getting on with the chapter anymore.**

 **Thank you again for reading this story!**

* * *

 **Chapter 28**

 **Slow Shift**

* * *

 **[24 November 2011]**

 **10:33 AM**

He eyed the parchment in front of him and tapped his quill against his chin as he wondered what to write. He reread the task written at the top of the page in Draco's narrow, elegant cursive handwriting. It said: _List at least ten specific objects, people or situations that have triggered past memories._

It was the task given to him quite a while ago, but considering the various events that had taken place recently, Harry had all but forgotten about it, only remembering it when Draco had asked him about his progress in their previous session. He had been rather embarrassed to admit that he hadn't really made any head way, and had thus decided to finish as much as possible before he met Draco later that day. But, staring at the piece of parchment now, he was finding it rather difficult to come up with anything that wasn't vague or ambiguous.

 _What does he mean by 'triggered past memories'? How far into the past? How recent should the situation be? How great a trigger should it have been?_

He groaned. He had more questions than answers, and he had made absolutely no progress.

Sitting back with a sigh, he let his eyes wander around the room to see if anything in his office sparked a memory. He stared at the sofa for a moment, the night of Lestrange's murder flashing through his mind. Catching his breath, he quickly wrote down his thoughts before he forgot them. Looking around again so he didn't dwell any more on that horrific memory, his eyes fell on the photo frame at the corner of his desk.

It was a picture of James, Albus and Lily he had taken on Lily's second birthday. The two boys were carrying her in their arms, laughing as she squealed in delight. It brought a smile to his face, and he couldn't help his mind wandering to his kids and other pictures of them. Eventually, his train of thought landed on one particular morning when the kids had discovered the photographs from the war, and he sobered down as the images passed through his mind. He looked back at the paper and wrote that down, wondering if it was far too specific.

After that, he stated to recollect random things or situations that had reminded him of the war. By the time he put his quill down, he had a list much longer than he had expected to have. Reading back on what he wrote, he couldn't help but think that far too many things reminded him of the past. It was pretty clear even without Draco's assessment that Harry was still hung up over the war and whatever had happened.

Deciding that he was done, he rolled up the parchment and stuffed it into the inner pocket of his overcoat, feeling morose. Just then, there were three sharp raps on the door and Buxley poked his head.

"Boss, they've arrived. Rogers is bringing them up."

Harry nodded and rose from his chair. Before he exited the office, he glanced back over his shoulder, seeing his past in almost every object that was in the room. He heaved a sigh as he pulled the door shut behind him, suddenly feeling like he had no energy to go through the rest of the day.

He came to stand beside Buxley and the other Aurors who were gathered near the entrance of the Auror Office, awaiting the arrival of the trainees. After about five minutes of listening to his men reminisce about when they were recruits, Rogers arrived, a dozen or so bright-faced and wide-eyed youngsters following close behind.

"Just wait and watch," Harry heard one of the older Aurors mutter, "couple months here, and they won't look half as bright and shiny as they do now."

He snorted at that and stepped forward with a smile. Nodding to Rogers, who handed over a file to Buxley as he moved aside, Harry eyed the group of trainees before him.

"Good morning," he said in as cheerful a voice as he could muster. The energetic response of "Good morning, sir!" made his smile widen. "Congratulations on successfully completing your training. I'm Harry Potter, the Head Auror, as you probably already know, and this is my deputy, Jon Buxley."

He motioned to Buxley and noticed that the redhead standing directly opposite him puffed his chest out, looking mighty proud. _And he must be Ryan. What a strapping young lad._

He then let Buxley handle the rest as he stepped towards Rogers and clapped him on the shoulder. "I trust that you'll take good care of them."

The brunet saluted him with a grin. "Leave it to me, sir."

Harry patted him on the back before turning to study the newbies.

They were standing in two rows, listening intently to what Buxley was saying. His deputy must've cracked some terrible joke that nobody except him and a few others got, because the trainees just glanced at each other with confused expressions before turning back to Buxley. They looked like any of the new recruits did: bright, young, energetic, enthusiastic, desperately wanting to prove their mettle—it reminded him of when he had first joined the force, except he had already faced far more before he had become an Auror than even the senior-most wizards currently on the force.

That triggered some more unpleasant memories, and he couldn't help but blame Draco for making him unnecessarily conscious of everything. Buxley said something and everybody turned towards Harry, and he paused, having realised that he hadn't paid any attention to what his deputy had been saying.

"Er, well, I suppose you know Rogers will be your supervisor, so you can direct any queries to him at any time." He nodded to Buxley, who just cocked and eyebrow curiously at him before turning back to give the trainees their final set of instructions.

Once he was done, the Aurors took a moment to greet the new recruits by poking fun at them, pulling their legs, scaring them, and riling them up—as was tradition. Harry perched atop the nearest desk and zoned out, not really paying attention to what was happening around him.

"You OK?"

He glanced sideways as Buxley came to stand beside him. His deputy frowned as one of the group of Aurors guffawed loudly, making the three trainees they were surrounding cringe. "'M fine," he said as he inhaled deeply and exhaled with a sigh.

"You look tired."

"I _feel_ tired. Even though I have done nothing but sit behind my desk all morning."

"All good at home? Have you been sleeping alright?"

Harry rolled his eyes and snorted. It had been a while since Buxley had mothered him. "Yes, _Mum._ I've been sleeping like a baby. Nothing to worry yourself over."

He grinned when Buxley shot him a look and grumbled a string of curses under his breath. "Anyway," Harry said, "you must be mighty proud of your son, huh?"

Buxley scoffed. "I s'pose. Letting a girl beat him, really." Although he said that, he still wore a proud smile on his face.

Harry laughed, and someone cleared their throat, effectively ending the conversation. The two men looked to their right to see a very pretty brunette, her hazel eyes sparkling as she smiled at them. She tossed her long, dark braid over her shoulder as she introduced herself. "My name is Alyssa Henley, and I'm the girl that beat Ryan Buxley."

He couldn't help but grin at that, and even Buxley snorted, looking impressed. "And you are. Can't say you went easy on him, huh?"

"Well, I would've if he weren't so adamant about having a fair match and everything. If he realised I'd let him win, he'd just sulk and challenge me all over again. It was rather tedious, to be frank."

Buxley chortled, and Harry chuckled as he watched a red-faced Ryan stride up to them. "Good morning," he said, his chin held high. "Auror-in-training Ryan Buxley ready for his very first assignment."

Alyssa rolled her eyes. Buxley and Harry shared a grin and burst out laughing, causing the poor fellow to go so red in the face; even the tips of his ears were the same colour as his hair.

"Looks like we got an enthusiastic lot this time around," Harry commented as he slid off the desk and clapped Ryan on the back. "Well, Mister Auror-in-training, just take your time to get to know your way around the place, and I'll be sure to tell Rogers to assign you to desk duty as soon as possible." When Alyssa giggled, he pointed at her and said, "You too, Miss Top of Her Class."

The two flushed and mumbled an embarrassed "Yessir," and Harry walked away with a grin and a wave over his shoulder. He weaved through the throng of Aurors, joining in the fun every now and then as he made his way to his office. Just as he reached, he was stopped by an unfamiliar voice calling out to him.

"Sir?"

He paused with his hand on the doorknob and glanced over his shoulder. Two recruits stood with their arms crossed behind their backs, and if not for the fact that they were different genders, they looked almost exactly alike. They were both tall and lean, with gentle curves and soft features. They had short hair, except the girl's was straight and clean-cut, just falling below her chin. The lad's was longer and wavier, and he had pulled it back in a messy bun except for the two locks framing his face. He looked as tired as she looked sharp.

 _Twins!_ Harry thought. It had been a long, long time since he had met a pair of twins. _Let's not go down that road,_ he told himself as he turned to face that two and smiled.

"Yes?"

The girl eased her position. "Sir, were you serious about us being assigned to desk duty?"

He hummed in thought before asking, "And you are?"

"I'm Natasha—Natasha Fey. And this is my brother, Nathaniel," she said, motioning to herself first and then her brother. "The reason I asked," she continued before Harry could speak, "is because we were told that new recruits are allowed to work as archive clerk assistants?"

He raised his eyebrows, surprised. That wasn't the first time a trainee had come to him about being assigned to desk duty, but it most certainly was the first time somebody had come asking to be assigned to the archives. "Well," he said, unsure, "that's true, but if you were to take up that job, you'll be spending all of your time in the archives. You may not even get assigned to missions if you're not at hand."

The girl smiled. "That's perfectly fine with us, sir."

 _What exactly did you join the force for?_ He wanted to ask them, but something about the gleam in their dark, viridian eyes appeased his instincts. He could recognise a thirst for knowledge if ever he saw it, having been Hermione's best friend for so many years, and these two seemed like a pair of Ravenclaws through and through. Besides, it was common knowledge that the Ministry archives was one of the few historical locations that held the greatest and most timeless treasures from the beginning of wizardkind—or, at least, that's how Hermione liked to describe it to him.

 _They may just come in handy,_ he thought to himself. There was always that one—or in this case, two—recruit who worked really hard and took even the smallest task seriously, and those were the ones that turned into the most reliable Aurors, he had come to find.

"Alright," he said, nodding. "I'll put in a word with Rogers and we'll see what we can do. But," he added when the two shared a triumphant look, "now that you've joined as an Auror, you _will_ have to partake in Auror duties whenever you're called on."

They glanced at each other, and Harry pursed his lips. He didn't really need useless Aurors on the force. No matter how good they were behind the scenes, if they couldn't hold their own when the situation demanded it, they didn't deserve to be Aurors. They could join most other departments in the Ministry and still have access to the archives, although the DMLE and the Auror Office had full access, especially to the restricted sections, for obvious reasons.

"Of course, sir," the lad said, speaking for the first time. Harry was rather surprised by how deep and calm his voice was. "We weren't in the top fifteen that got selected for no reason."

 _Let's hope so,_ Harry thought as he smiled at them. "Very well, then. Let's see how things work out."

The twins thanked him and walked away, leaving him to return to his desk with a sigh. The exhaustion was settling over him again, and he wondered if he could take a quick nap. Flicking his wand to lock the door, he flopped back on the sofa and closed his eyes, sighing deeply. Although his nightmares were no longer prominent, he still slept restlessly, and the effects of that were finally taking a toll on him. His mind belatedly reminded him that it was nearly lunchtime and he was hunrgy, but he ignored it in favour of the heaviness of his eyelids. Inhaling deeply, he focused on the beating of his heart and let his mind slip into nothingness.

* * *

 _He hummed and stretched, sighing in his sleep as he turned around, revelling at the feel of the cool, silk sheets against his burning skin. Somebody was asleep beside him and he snuggled closer to them, wrapping his arm around their rather slender waist as he breathed in the scent of their hair. The fragrance that tickled his nostrils wasn't the familiar one of peach and strawberries of Ginny's shampoo. It was more of a fresh, clean, soapy scent that reminded him of summer evenings on the soft grass of a meadow. There was something familiarly unfamiliar about it._

 _The person shifted in their sleep, moving closer to him, wrapping their arm around Harry's and murmuring in their sleep. He nuzzled their neck, surprised by how short their hair was. Had Ginny cut her hair again?_

 _But that thought caused an odd sensation to well up in his stomach, as though something was amiss. The person intertwined their fingers with Harry's, but they were longer and leaner than Ginny's._

 _What was going on?_

 _He pulled away slightly, squinting in the darkness as he tried to make out the blurred figure beside him. Without his glasses, he could barely see, and that only further escalated his sense of trepidation. As though sensing his alarm, the person turned, the sliver of moonlight that poured in through the crack in the drapes making their platinum hair and silver eyes glisten._

 _He stared, transfixed, the panic that had welled up within him settling as the person reached up to touch cool fingers to his cheek._

" _Harry?" The soft voice caressed him and made his skin tingle. He felt himself calm as fingers slipped into his hair and massaged his scalp. He hummed as he relaxed, letting the soothing lull of sleep coupled with the cool fingers let him slip back into unconsciousness._

* * *

 **1:03 PM**

He awoke to three sharp raps on his door and the nauseating tug of hunger.

"Coming," he slurred as he got to his feet. He drew his wand over himself with one hand and muttered the freshening charm as he tried to tame his hair with the other.

Clearing his throat and blinking rapidly to rid himself of the sleep still clinging onto him, he unlocked the door and pulled it open. Buxley looked up and paused with his mouth open, having forgotten whatever he was going to say after catching sight of Harry.

"Blimey, you look like crap," he finally said as Harry waved him in and trudged over to his desk. He stared at the picture frame, suddenly feeling fresh and well rested.

"I feel great, though," he muttered, frowning down at his dishevelled reflection on the glass top. "I feel like I had a really good dream… although I can't seem to remember it."

"You're going to put your back out if you keep napping on that uncomfortable sofa," Buxley said as he tossed the file he was holding on the table and flopped down in the chair across from Harry. "I speak from experience."

"What's this?" Harry asked as he settled down in his own chair and flipped the file open.

"Rogers' report."

"Wow, that was quick."

Buxley shrugged. "What can I say? The fellow may be a clumsy fool, but he's a hard working clumsy fool, at least."

Harry chuckled as he skimmed through the report, nodding every now and then in appreciation of how detailed it was. "Maybe it's time we let hand over some of the major work to him. He deserves it."

His deputy grunted, but didn't say anything. After a long pause, he said, "Maybe he'll even make for a good second-in-command."

Harry looked up sharply, snapping the file shut as he leaned forwards with pursed lips and fixed Buxley with an intense gaze. "That better not mean what it sounded like," he said carefully as he gauged the other man's reaction.

Buxley simply shrugged, looking defeated. "But it did." He sighed. "Is it really that much of a surprise?"

"Well, no, but—" Harry ruffled his hair, frustrated by his inability to come up with an apt reassurance, or at least a few words of comfort. Buxley didn't seem to mind in the least, though.

"Over thirty years on the force, most of which I spent as the Deputy Auror. That's something not many people can brag about, eh?"

"Buxley…" Harry paused, unsure if he should continue. "What are you trying to say?"

The man shrugged. "Well, we've got a new set of promising recruits, and Rogers is really stepping up his game, so I thought, you know, this may be the right time for me to take a step back from the limelight and enjoy life in the shadows."

Harry ran a hand down his face and stifled a sigh. "Are you saying you want to retire, Jon?"

Being addressed by his first name perhaps caught him by surprise, because Buxley straightened up and fixed tired brown eyes on Harry. "I would like that very much, yes."

Harry regarded the man for a long moment, various thoughts running through his mind, before he nodded. "Alright. That's the least I can do for you after everything you've done for me."

Buxley smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Thank you."

"Well," Harry said as he flipped the file open again and pretended to be engrossed in its content, "when would you like to leave?"

"Not any time soon."

Harry immediately looked up, unable to keep the grin from spreading across his face. "Really?"

"No need to look _that_ happy at my prolonged misery," Buxley replied with a roll of his eyes.

"Right, right, my bad. No, but, seriously?"

His deputy nodded. "Wanna make sure both Rogers and my boy are settled in and ready for responsibility. Besides, I wanna see this wretched vandals case come to a close before I leave. Not gonna let an incomplete case hang over my head for the rest of my life."

Harry nodded and plucked a memo from the pad. "I'll get Rogers to reopen the case right away."

"Do you want me to stay or leave?"

Harry laughed, feeling light, like his body was filled with cotton. Sometimes he himself didn't understand his own sudden change in mood.

Signing the memo, he folded it up and let it hover in the air. Buxley stood up with a groan and nodded to Harry. "See you later then, boss."

"Later, Buxley," he replied with a smile as his deputy strode to the door and held it open for the paper airplane to flutter out.

He stared at the door for a long moment, the smile still on his face, not really thinking about anything. After a moment, he dropped his gaze to his watch and saw that he had a few hours to kill before he could head home. He wondered if he should just leave early and go home for a late lunch so he could spend some time with Ginny and the kids. After a small debate with himself, he decided that he would finish up what little work he had left and head home.

* * *

 **3:43 PM**

He smiled to himself, watching from the first floor balcony as Albus taught Lily how to straddle the miniature broom Harry had Transfugured a bunch of sticks into. They then ran around the back garden, playing mock Quidditch apparently, and he chuckled.

James was at his friend's birthday party, and Albus and Lily had sulked about not being able to go along for nearly half an hour before Harry had managed to distract them by making them the brooms. He had returned early and brought the last bit of paperwork home. He'd just finished it, and had stepped out onto the balcony for a bit of fresh air and to watch his kids play. Smiling to himself, he padded back inside and made his way downstairs.

"Hi," he said as he entered the living room. "When's Jamie expected to be back?"

Ginny glanced over her shoulder with a smile. "Hi, sweetheart. I'm not too sure, actually. I just spoke to Sara, and she asked if it would be alright to let Jamie stay over since it had been so long since him and Blake had spent time together."

"What did you say?" he asked as he perched on a barstool.

She tasted the liquid simmering on the stove before smacking her lips and humming in satisfaction. "I told her I didn't really mind, except it was a week night, and they had school tomorrow."

"Let me guess," he said, "Jamie and Blake begged and pleaded for you to let him stay over."

She shook her head and smiled. "We really spoil them too much."

"It _has_ been a long time since we saw the Hattermans, though. When was it that we met them last? That dinner right before they moved?"

"I bumped into Sara a month or two back, actually. In Diagon. I told you, remember? She was buying stuff to redecorate the guest room since her mum was moving in."

"Oh yeah," he said as he drummed a rhythm on the counter. "How're they liking their new house? I should really write to Jerry… It's been far too long."

"You really should," Ginny said as she turned around and held the ladle out. "Taste?"

He leaned forwards to take a sip of the soup and nodded. "Mm, delicious. What is it?"

"I finally managed to break Mum and get her to tell me the secret ingredient for her chicken noodle soup," she replied, grinning triumphantly.

He made an impressed sound. "Wow. I never thought she'd actually give in. What's the secret ingredient?"

Ginny winked at him. "It's a secret."

He pulled a face, making her laugh. He leaned forwards to prop his elbows on the counter and supported his chin with his hands as he watched her cook.

"Dinner's almost ready," she said as she bustled about. "Do you want a quick snack?"

Inhaling the scent of the mouth-watering food, he swallowed and nodded. He wasn't really hungry, since he had eaten a late lunch, but it just smelt so good. "So," he said. "Al told me you and Astoria had a long talk about the weekend."

Ginny nodded, concentrating as she carefully levitated the steaming-hot pot of soup and put it aside to cool. "Yeah," she finally said once she was done and turned to him.

"Well?" he asked when she didn't continue.

"Well nothing. She and I decided the time, and I told her you'd be going over as well. I said it was because that the last time Al went to a friend's house we had some problems, but I think she knows the real reason."

He shrugged. "So what if she does? Besides, it's not as though we're wary of them, it's just so we're reassured that our son's going to be all right."

"Are _you_ going to be all right?"

She was looking at him with unsure eyes full of emotion, and he felt a lump form in his throat as he put on a brave smile. He reached across the counter, and she took his hand, squeezing it tight. "I'll be fine," he promised, more to himself than to reassure her. "This is going to be a huge step in my getting over my trauma, wouldn't you say?"

Ginny shrugged a shoulder. "That's not really how exposure therapy works, you know."

He chuckled. "Maybe, but I think that fact that we're even letting Al go to Malfoy Manor, and that I'm accompanying him, in itself shows that we've moved on from the past."

She smiled, pulling his hand up to brush a kiss against his knuckles. "If you say so."

That small gesture stung him instead of making him feel better. He didn't know why, but ever since Ginny had gotten back, they hadn't been fighting or arguing, and she seemed so understanding of anything that happened, and that didn't bode very well with him. It was the small things she did; like her making him snacks, or them just sitting around and chatting idly, or her so willingly accepting the whole thing with Al going to Malfoy Manor.

It may just be him projecting his own guilty conscious onto her, he realised. Perhaps the fact that she was being so wonderful was making him feel even worse about him hiding things from her, and he was just deflecting his on guilt by focusing it on her.

 _But,_ his rational mind reasoned, _your instincts have never been wrong._

He shook himself of such thoughts as he continued conversing with his wife. He had gotten what he had wanted. They were together again, they were happy, and, best of all, his nightmares were getting better. Things were going back to how they used to be.

So then what was this sense of foreboding that kept gnawing at the back of his mind?

* * *

 **A/n: I know that in the previous chapter I added a little sneak peek with Draco and Harry's session being in this chapter as well, but it sorta got longer than I expected it to, so I had to push it to the next chapter. But worry not, because along with that will come the much awaited trip to Malfoy Manor! Wohoo!**

 **(Also I am FINALLY DONE WITH EXAMS FOR A LONG, LONG TIME WOHOOOO BEST DAY EVER! So yes that means more regular updates! :D)**

 **Do leave a review and let me know what you think.**

 **Lots of love,**

 **Arty xx**


	29. 29 Lies: Seal it with a-

**A/n: Guess who kept their promise and updated! Yes, yes, I love you too ahaha. Anyway you guys, I'm super excited about this chapter and I CANNOT CONTAIN MYSELF AGH which is why I just couldn't help but post this right away. It's one of my fav chapters so far, and read on to see why!**

 **Arty xx**

* * *

 **Chapter 29**

 **Sealed with a-**

* * *

 **[November 25 2011]**

 **5:07 PM**

Harry watched nervously as Draco scrutinised the list, his silver eyes moving back and forth as he read, his brows pinched together in a small frown. Although it was a rather lengthy list, he felt like Draco had been poring over it for an inordinately long time. At one point, the blond pulled off his reading glasses and placed the tip of one of the temples in the corner of his mouth, perhaps unknowingly, as he paused in his reading and stared hard at the piece of parchment.

He found himself focused on Draco's mouth before he knew it, and he couldn't help but wonder if the blond even realised that he was biting on his spectacles' temple. Harry knew that the other man was sort of a neat freak—the spacious office was always impeccably clean, and every single thing on his desk was organised according to colour or size or importance—and he had seen Draco look displeased if he ever found a speck of dirt or a blot of ink anywhere. So the fact that the blond had something that wasn't supposed to be there in his mouth led Harry to conclude that he was doing it unconsciously.

These were things Harry found himself noticing every time he came to see Draco, and now that the two were friends, he found a constant need to learn every small quirk or habit of the blond. He wasn't sure why; it may have something to do with Harry's sense of guilt for never really trying to understand the man, not only when they were kids, but also in recent years, and pinning Draco with his own half-baked assumptions of him. Sure, he had been a git, but seeing the person Draco was now, Harry couldn't help but feel that there could've been so much more to the blond that he had never known of, even back in their Hogwarts days.

It was somehow similar to when he had first met Hermione. She had been a bossy, condescending know-it-all who was a right pain in the arse, but he had come to find a best friend in her, and only because he had given her the benefit of the doubt; to show him that there was more to her than the snobbish bookworm that he had thought she was. Perhaps, just perhaps, if had given Draco the same chance back then…

"Harry?"

He jerked up, drawn from his thoughts by Draco calling his name, and cleared his throat. "Yeah?"

The blond smiled, instantly making the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stand on end. _I just can't seem to get used to that bewitching smile of his,_ he grumbled internally as Draco began to speak.

"I see you've put a lot of thought into this," Draco said, tapping the parchment. "This is quite an extensive list." Harry nodded as he clutched the ends of the armrests, nervous anticipation thrumming through him. "But I also noticed that a lot of everyday objects lying around the place or mundane situations seem to be noted down as associated triggers."

"Well," Harry began, rubbing his sweaty palms on his pants, "it's not that they actually trigger memories every time I look at them, but I guess sometimes if I happen to be brooding over something, and the situation is similar to a bad one from the past, I end up associating the two together. Does that make sense?"

Draco hummed in thought. "Is that how you came up with this list? The more you thought about it, the more things came to mind?"

Harry nodded. "That's pretty much exactly what happened, yeah."

"Well, then I don't think most of this stuff are actually triggers." Draco rose from the armchair and came to sit on the sofa adjacent to where Harry was sitting. He looked towards Harry and patted the place next to him. "How about we go over this list again? And this time, I'll help you eliminate some of the things so that we can narrow it down."

"Er, sure." He rose from his seat and moved over to sit beside Draco. Their arms brushed against each other as he sat, and a jolt shot through him. He felt an embarrassed flush creep up his neck at how self-conscious he was being, but the moment their shoulders touched by accident, Draco flinched away, making Harry feel less stupid.

 _It's not just me,_ he thought, and that made him feel a whole lot better.

Draco cleared his throat and held the parchment out in-between them. He pointed at one of the things at the very top of the list. "This. Have you ever found yourself picking up or wearing a dark cloak and ending up thinking of…" the blond paused, and then finished in a soft, almost tentative voice, "Death Eaters?"

Harry nodded, wondering if Draco was reminded of Death Eaters every time he wore a dark cloak, too. _Come to think of it, I don't think I've ever seen him wearing one…_

As though in reply to Harry's thoughts, Draco said softly, "Me too."

 _Was that why he preferred to wear light colours?_

Harry turned to fix wide, surprised eyes on the blond, but Draco continued on without pausing—although, Harry noticed, his cheeks seemed a little flushed—as he put a small check mark beside the serial number before moving on to the next one. "What about this? How often do you take a detour through an alleyway when it's raining and find yourself reminded of the Chamber of Secrets?"

Harry shrugged. "Not very often, but it hashappened a few times. It doesn't even have to be raining—just a dank, dark alleyway with pipes running along the walls or floor, or the sound of water dripping is enough to—" he broke off, waving a hand.

Draco nodded, putting another small check mark beside the serial number. As he moved on to another one a few numbers down, Harry inhaled deeply and focused on the blond's soothing voice, unwilling to let his idle mind conjure up chilling images from memories he had no intention of remembering.

* * *

 **6:53 PM**

"That was a rather productive session, wouldn't you say?"

Harry nodded as he pulled on his coat. "It really was very enlightening." _For the both of us,_ he added to himself.

Draco smiled and offered Harry his hand. "I shall see you next week, then. Monday?"

"Wait, you won't be home tomorrow?"

The blond rolled his eyes, the corners of his lips tugging upwards in a typical Malfoy smirk. "I meant _here,_ Harry. For our next session. At least play along with the whole formality thing, won't you?"

"Right," Harry replied, his mouth suddenly dry. Another thing he wasn't yet used to: Draco calling him by his first name. There was just something about the way the blond said his name that made Harry feel…odd. The good sort, obviously, but still.

"Astoria said you'd be coming over after lunch?" Draco asked, distracting Harry from his weird thoughts.

He nodded. "Probably around late afternoon, yeah. I have some work that needs to be taken care of, first."

"Alright."

Harry cleared his throat and reached up to grab a fistful of Floo powder from the bowl on the mantle. Just as he was about to step into the fireplace, though, Draco grabbed his arm. Harry paused with one foot in the air and turned to Draco curiously. The moment he looked into stormy grey eyes, he knew something was wrong and stepped back.

"What is it?" he asked, tensing involuntarily.

"Are you," Draco began, paused, and then continued, "Are you sure you'll be all right?"

"With what?" Harry asked before he could stop himself, despite knowing exactly what the blond was referring to.

Draco sighed and shook his head, withdrawing his arm. "No, it's nothing. Forget I said anything."

This time, Harry was the one to grab the other man's arm. He loosened his hold on Draco's wrist when the latter winced and said in a soft voice, "Tell me."

The blond didn't reply at first, and Harry let go of his wrist, feeling conscious about the fact that he was touching the other man. Draco slowly looked up at Harry, his conflict clear in his dark eyes. "The Manor," he said, his voice sounding strangled, "I know how much—" he broke off and shook his head, suddenly looking helpless. "I just want to make sure—"

"Draco," Harry interrupted, his voice firm. "The reason I'm here, standing before you, having this conversation, is solely because I _want_ to. I'm sick and tired of running away. I've been doing that for two decades, and we both know that no good has come out of it. So now I've decided not to run away any more."

Draco didn't look too convinced, so Harry continued. "Sure, I never imagined that I would ever have another opportunity to go back to that place again, but neither did I imagine, even in my wildest dreams, that there would come a day when you and I are friends. Besides," he smiled as he reached his free hand up to grab the other man's shoulder and squeeze it. "I won't have to see this through on my own."

The blond's relief was so obvious when he exhaled and relaxed, a small smile on his face, that Harry found himself easing his tense posture as well. Draco had looked just as tormented about the whole thing as Harry had felt, making the latter realise that this visit would undoubtedly help not just him, but Draco as well.

"You know," he said slowly, a small lump having formed in his throat, "I really am glad that we're friends."

The smile Draco gave him had to be the brightest, gentlest, and most genuine one he had seen on the man's face yet. "Me too." He straightened his shoulders and raised his chin. "Me too."

Harry smiled, and with a final nod and goodbye, turned back and stepped into the fireplace. He threw down the Floo powder and said, "The Potter residence," and as the green flames shot up and enveloped him, he saw Draco mouth something through the haze.

It was only later that night, after he had brooded over it endlessly, that he realised what the two words the blond had said were.

 _Thank you._

* * *

 **[November 26 2011]**

 **4:09 PM**

"I'm not going anywhere, so come straight home if anything happens."

He sighed as he let his wife fiddle with the lapels of his coat and repeat herself for the dozenth time that day. "Ginny, I'm sure everything is going to be _just fine._ And besides, I trust that I can take care of both Al and myself even if anything does happen. I've been an Auror for years and have defeated a Dark Lord, the least you can do is have a little faith in me."

Ginny stepped back, crossed her arms, and huffed. "I do have faith in you. It's the others that I'm worried about."

He rolled his eyes. "You have said yourself that Astoria is a nice person—"

"That was _before_ I found out that she had hid the fact that she's Malfoy's wife from me!"

"—and I honestly doubt Draco—Malfoy will attack me, or our son. So just relax. Everything is going to be _fine."_

He waited with bated breath, wondering if Ginny had caught his blunder—really, addressing Draco by his first name was probably the stupidest thing he could do in that situation, or any situation, even if he had covered it up by adding in his last name—but she didn't seem to have noticed. After a moment she nodded, looking defeated. "You're right. I'm just being unnecessarily paranoid, sorry."

Reaching over, he pulled her into a hug and sighed. "I know you're worried, and probably rightfully so, but I have a feeling I'm just going to go there and spend a few hours awkwardly staring at the wall and not knowing what to do with myself while Al has a gala of a time." He stepped back and smiled down at her. "So stop worrying. We'll be fine."

She nodded and returned his smile, albeit tentatively. "Alright. Well, I better go tell Al that you're ready to leave."

"And I'll check and make sure the Floo's been connected," he called as she walked out the door, hollering for Albus.

Taking some of the shimmering, green powder, he threw it into the fireplace and stuck his head in. He waited, a bead of sweat trickling down the side of his forehead, and a moment later, the logs sizzled, and Draco's smiling face appeared in the embers.

"Hey," Harry said softly, unable to hide his grin. He felt like a boy doing something secretly behind his parents' back, feeling the thrill of anticipation run through him at the fear of being caught.

"Hi," Draco replied, and his eyes seemed to shimmer—although that could've been the trick of the light from the flickering flames. "Everything's set from my end."

"Fantastic. We'll be there as soon as—"

"I'm here!" Albus announced as he raced into the room, cutting Harry off, his excitement palpable.

Harry chuckled as he turned back to Draco and said, "Well, see you on the other side, then."

As he pulled his head out, Ginny walked up to him, a curious frown on her face. "Who was that?"

"Scorpius," Harry lied easily as he checked the straps on Albus's backpack, which was full of toys the boy wanted to take to play with Scorpius. "All set, Al?

"All set!"

"Right-y ho, here we go," he said as he leaned over his son to peck Ginny on the lips, who eyed him with an odd expression on her face as she said her goodbyes to them. Toning down his sudden bout of enthusiasm, he ushered Albus into the fireplace and ducked in after him, barely having a moment to secure is son's limbs close together as the world spun around them.

They all but toppled out of the fireplace, and were greeted by Scorpius's energetic cries of delight. Astoria and Draco stood a little away, amused smiles on their faces as they watched the two boys run around in circles.

Clearing his throat, Harry stepped around the elated duo and stood in front of Draco and his wife. He nodded to Astoria first, smiling as she offered him her hand, which he shook once. "Hullo. Nice to see you again."

"The pleasure is mine," she said, her voice kind, and her smile genuine. Then, as though noticing something that Harry hadn't, she made a little sound of exclamation and called to the two boys, who immediately raced past her and out of the room, Scorpius excitedly describing his potions set to Albus. "Well, I shall make sure the two of them don't lose their way in their eagerness," she said as she excused herself and exited the room—but not before shooting a knowing smile her husband's way.

Ignoring what had just happened, Harry finally turned to Draco as he broke into a grin. "Hi," he said, and the blond's eyes glittered with mirth, his lips widening in a smile.

"Hi yourself. You seem just as excited to be here as your son does," Draco said as he held out his hand.

Harry took it instantly and shook it, tightening his grip on the other man's fingers for a moment before letting go. "What can I say? His enthusiasm was infectious."

"I'm sure," Draco replied as he motioned to the door. "How about I give you a little tour of the manor? Just to kill some time."

Harry was too caught up in the moment to notice the hint of anxiousness in Draco's eyes or the way his smile faltered in the slightest when Harry nodded and fell into step beside the blond. He felt the sense of anticipation thrum through his veins and make his heart race. It wasn't even in fear of what was to come; it was more of just the thrill of being able to be with Draco like this, in Malfoy Manor, in a situation that was completely unlike the last time he had been here—or any time he had spent with the man, for that matter.

He wasn't even sure _why_ he was feeling like he would take off running any moment now, if it weren't for the man beside him and the bit of willpower he had left. It was like the thrill of doing something that he knew was dangerous, but greatly enjoyable, nonetheless. Like the jolt of exhilaration that passed through him when he was on his Firebolt, zooming across the Quidditch Pitch, hot on the tail of a Snitch.

The realisation hit him belatedly: was this something he had always wantedwithout even knowing it himself?

 _Perhaps,_ his rational mind told him. _Or perhaps it's just the prospect of being able to further solidify the path leading away from the past._

"Well," Draco said, drawing him out of his thoughts as they came to a stop at the foot of a pair of enormous double doors. "This is it." He glanced sideways at Harry, the uncertainty that was swimming in his grey eyes quelling any sense of apprehension in Harry. "Ready?"

He turned to eye the doors, his heart thundering in his chest. "Yes," he said, but even as the words left his mouth, he reached out to grab Draco's hand— _needing_ to reassure himself rather than wanting to—and almost would have, if reason hadn't made him stop short and mentally berate himself.

Just before Draco stepped forwards, though, Harry felt cool fingers brush against his own, almost as if the blond has been reaching for him as well, and his breath caught in his throat. He watched the doors swing open ever so slowly without the slightest creak or groan, and as Draco stepped into the glimmering light of the chandelier overhead, Harry knew—he felt it deep in his bones—that the moment he crossed the threshold, his life would change forevermore.

Little did he know how right he was.

* * *

 **5:15 PM**

They sat on the plush sofas, sipping on their wine in silence. Harry's heart was beating a mile a minute, and every time his eyes flitted around the spacious drawing room, all he could see was Hermione on the floor, with Bellatrix on top of her, the former's screams echoing in his ears. He had to swallow thickly and look away to forget the horrific images, but the distraction only lasted so long.

"Are you alright?" Draco asked him for the dozenth time, and Harry replied with a, "Yes, I am," for the dozenth time.

He quickly downed his glass and watched as it magically refilled, the wine in the bottle slowly decreasing till it was all gone. Taking another sip, he sighed and tried to ease his tense posture, but to no avail.

"We changed the wallpaper," Draco said idly after a moment, and Harry's eyes lifted to stare at the grey-coloured walls with white and silver creepers adorning it. "But you probably don't remember what colour they used to be, do you?" Draco continued, shaking his head, as though chastising himself for being foolish.

"What colour were they?" Harry asked anyway, simply to prolong the conversation and distract himself.

"Royal purple."

Harry hummed. "Why'd you change it?"

Draco's shoulder brushed against his as the man shrugged. _Why're we sitting so close together?_ Harry wondered briefly as the blond began to speak. It was almost as though they had unconsciously moved closer, needing the comfort. "Astoria thought it looked far too dark and dreary for a drawing room. We changed the drapes, too, and keep them open all the time, now. It's more well-lit and comfortable, don't you think?"

"Yeah," Harry agreed, knowing Draco was just rambling on for both their sakes. He dropped his gaze to his wineglass as he swirled the dark liquid around, watching the ripples that formed across the surface as a stray thought flitted through his mind. He tossed it back and forth in his head, the warmth of the wine dulling his senses as he opened his mouth to speak. "Draco," he began, his voice low, "how did you feel… back then?"

There was a long silence from the other man, and Harry inhaled deeply before taking a large gulp of the wine. _Shouldn't have asked that,_ he scolded himself as he chanced a glance at the blond.

Draco had a faraway look in his eyes as he stared straight ahead, as though he was reliving that night all over again. The corners of his mouth were down turned, and his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. After a long moment, the blond raised his glass and tilted his head back, finishing the wine in one gulp. He then leaned forwards and tapped a full bottle in the case on the table—they had picked up a whole case of Draco's finest wine when they were down in the cellars, for the sake of moral support—and the cork popped out. He then tapped his glass, and it refilled all the way to the brim. After taking another long sip, he set his glass down with a sigh and turned to Harry.

"Would you like to see?"

Harry immediately shook his head no, a heavy lump forming in his throat, making it hard to breathe. Draco bowed his head and leaned back, looking somewhat defeated, but Harry grabbed his arm, making him turn to eye Harry curiously. "Yes," Harry said, his voice sounding choked, but Draco was the one to shake his head this time.

"You don't have to if you don't want to."

"Will it help if I do?" Harry questioned, somehow feeling like the answer to that question was the solution to everything.

A myriad of emotions shimmered in Draco's now dark eyes, but conflict was the most predominant one. Harry tightened his grip on Draco's arm. He felt desperate, almost. It was like they had reached an impasse, and what happened next could effectively make or break their rather frail friendship. _I can't afford that,_ he thought. _I've come this far. I can't fail now, or everything would've been for nothing._

"Draco," Harry pressed. "Will it help?"

The blond swallowed thickly, his eyes looking suspiciously moist. "Maybe," he choked out, and Harry nodded, steeling himself.

"Then show me."

"But—what if—"

"Show me," Harry urged, feeling like his resolve would slip away at any moment.

Draco nodded once. "Alright."

They each turned halfway so they were seated facing each other, and Harry pulled out his wand. Staring into Draco's eyes, he awaited the other man's permission, and when he got a small nod of confirmation, he pointed his wand at Draco and whispered, " _Legilimens."_

 _He was being sucked into a vortex, images that were clippings from various memories swirling around and above him till they crashed down on him. The wisps of colour solidified, but they were bleaker and more washed out than he had expected. It was the colour of suppressed memories—the colour of pain._

 _Glancing to his right, he saw Draco. The blond's face was twisted in a grimace, as though he was the one being tortured, and beside him stood Lucius, a none-too-reassuring expression on his face. Harry could feel Draco's fear palpitating in his veins, like it were his own. He watched as seventeen-year-old Draco opened his mouth, faltering as he began to speak. "I—I can't be sure."_

 _Lucius grabbed his son by the shoulder and came close, an anxious smile on his face, as he said, "Look closely, son. If we were to hand over Harry Potter to the Dark Lord, all would be forgiven. Everything would be as it was, do you understand?"_

 _Draco nodded and swallowed as someone spoke from behind them—a voice that made Harry's skin crawl. "Now, we're not forgetting who actually caught him, I hope… Mr Malfoy."_

 _Lucius sneered as he lashed out at Greyback. "You dare to talk to me like that in my own house?!"_

 _Narcissa was by her husband's side in an instant, trying to pacify him. She pulled him away, leaving Harry and Draco to turn to look at the two people in front of them._

 _Bellatrix forced the boy to his knees, grabbing his hair to pull his head back, his face so swollen that only one of his eyes was barely visible, as she said, "Don't be shy, sweetie. Now, come over and take a good look. If this isn't who we think it is and we call Him, Draco, he'll kill us all. We need to be absolutely sure."_

 _She ushered Draco forwards, her voice almost soothing and gentle, and Harry swallowed thickly as he watched the younger version of himself look up at Draco as the blond knelt down. Bellatrix was still cooing reassurances, but Harry could only hear a shrill ringing in his ears as he watched the two boys stare into each other's eyes. His heart was hammering in his chest and he felt like he had broken out in cold sweat, even though he knew it wasn't possible._

" _What's wrong with his face?" Draco asked, and Bellatrix echoed his question. Greyback answered, but Harry couldn't really hear anything beyond the ringing. Bellatrix said something and let go of younger Harry's hair, striding forward as she kept speaking._

 _Harry wanted to look over his shoulder, but he couldn't tear his eyes away. His younger self and Draco were still staring at each other, and it seemed as though a silent communication passed between them. As though his younger self was asking Draco not to do it, while Draco himself did not seem to want to go through with it. Narcissa then came and pulled Draco aside, and Harry took the opportunity to glance back, watching with a detached sense of fury as Bellatrix rampaged about, knocking the Snatchers off their feet as she brandished her wand in one hand and Gryffindor's Sword in another._

" _Get out!" she screeched before turning to her sister and ordering her to send Ron and younger Harry to the cellars. She rounded on Hermione, and Harry felt his blood run cold. He clenched his fists but felt no pain; everything he could feel were only what Draco had felt in that moment, and just then, Draco was feeling a heightened sense of fear and anxiety at what would transpire._

 _Then the screaming started._

 _Bellatrix had pushed Hermione to the ground and was sitting on top of her as she interrogated her. Hermione was sobbing, begging, pleading to be let go, but Bellatrix only turned to carve into her skin the one word that Hermione hated the most._

 _Harry bared his teeth, yearning to save Hermione, needing to save her from the torture, but he couldn't. He was rooted to the spot beside a whimpering Draco, who seemed like he wanted to be anywhere but there._

" _Do something!" he screamed at Draco, reaching out to grab him, only to have his hands pass through the boy. "Do something, goddamnit!"_

 _Draco had his teeth clenched, and it looked like he was struggling to get out of his mother's hold, but she had a tight grip on him. Harry swivelled around, shouting, screaming, wanting to do something, anything. Hermione's screams rivalled his own, but just as she quieted, he did as well, because a realisation had dawned on him._

 _These were Draco's memories. These were Draco's emotions. This was Draco's pain, helplessness, and conflict. This was Draco's frustration and anger at being unable to do anything. It was all Draco's, not Harry's._

 _That realisation numbing him temporarily, he watched as Peter Pettigrew clambered up the stairs of with Griphook in tow. Bellatrix must have ordered for the goblin to be brought up when he wasn't paying attention. She then began to question him about the sword, while Harry helplessly watched a weeping Hermione lie on the floor, a thin trail of blood running down from the wound on her arm._

 _The ringing was still in his ears, but accompanied with it was an overwhelming multitude of emotions, making him choke up, unable to breathe._

 _A moment later, his younger self and Ron burst into the room, and he watched as Narcissa and Draco, the two closest to the stairs, swivelled around, wands brandished in front of them. A swift duel between the two pairs ensued, and Harry felt like he would explode from how fast his heart was beating and how overwhelmed he was by everything._

" _Stop it!" yelled Bellatrix, and younger Harry and Ron stopped as they looked past Harry to where Bellatrix had Hermione with a knife against her throat. He didn't have to look back to see it; he knew exactly what was happening from the countless number of times he'd replayed it in his head._

 _Bellatrix then commanded his younger self and Ron to put down their wands, and for Draco to pick them up. He watched as his younger self's swollen face began to return to normal as the stinging jinx's effects wore off, and Bellatrix cackled, commanding that someone call the Dark Lord._

 _Several eyes turned to Draco, who simply returned their stares with his own fearful one. Harry could feel the intensity of Draco's emotions. He didn't want to call Voldemort there. He just wanted it all to end. He just wanted Harry and the rest to escape and leave, so he wouldn't have to witness any more deaths._

 _Harry watched as the chandelier came crashing down, and as it hit the ground, the memory dissolved, and he was cast out of Draco's mind._

He was panting, one hand clutching his wand so tightly he could've snapped it in two, the other one clutching his chest. He stared at Draco, stunned, overcome by emotion, confused, and gasping for breath. The blond was staring right back at him, his silver eyes wide and tears running down his cheeks. His mouth was open, as though he was trying to say something but couldn't.

The wine coupled with the intensity of the memory made Harry reach out without thinking and pull Draco against him. The two men just sat there, their heads against each other's shoulders, both too overwhelmed by what had happened to care that they were all but embracing.

Draco finally pulled away as he swiped his sleeve across his cheeks and sniffed softly. He then cleared his throat, looking around awkwardly, like he wanted to do something but didn't know what. Harry simply continued to stare at Draco as he tried to wrap his mind around everything he had felt and witnessed.

He had known since the beginning that Draco had been forced down the path of a Death Eater and that he had been as much a victim of Voldemort's terror as Harry—perhaps even more—but he had always viewed the blond as having been too much of a coward to hold his own and put up a fight.

Maybe he had been. But just looking at the blond's face now, Harry knew that nobody regretted their actions more than Draco did. Nobody hated him as much as he himself did. And that was something that pained Harry.

Draco had never been given a chance. Perhaps if Harry had offered him a hand in friendship instead of loathing him and spiting him and being suspicious of him all the time, maybe things would've been different. Maybe the blond would've had someone to help him and support him and save him from his cruel fate. Maybe Draco wouldn't have had to go through what he had gone through.

He shook his head, tears burning at the back of his eyes as he swallowed thickly. "I'm sorry," he said in a ragged whisper, and Draco immediately fixed stormy grey eyes on him.

"…Why?" he breathed, and Harry shook his head again.

"If I had just—"

Draco reached over to press his fingers against Harry's mouth, quieting him. "No." He shook his head. "No."

Harry felt like someone had reached into his chest, grabbed his heart, and was squeezing it tight. He was in so much pain, even though he wasn't physically injured. His heart bled for the man before him and the tragedy that had befallen him for no fault of his own. Draco had simply been swept into a whirlpool of things that were out of his control. While Harry had had the opportunity to make his own choices and friends to support him through his decisions, Draco was being pulled farther and farther into the vortex of darkness.

 _I could've saved him._

He pulled Draco's fingers away with the intention of apologising again, but no sooner had he opened his mouth, the blond leaned forward and pressed his lips against Harry's.

It took him several seconds to realise what had happened, and several more to un-freeze himself and move. His first reaction was to push Draco away, but even as he reached his hand up, he only clasped it around the blond's neck and pulled him closer.

Neither of them knew what they were doing. It was a stupid, impulsive move that they would later blame on the alcohol and their emotions going haywire thanks to their little revisitation of the past, but just then, everything that had gone unsaid for so many years—all the apologies, all the long-forgotten words, all the missed chances, all of it—came together in that moment and exploded like fireworks, in the form of one passionate kiss.

And that was it. Their destinies had been sealed. Sealed with a kiss.

* * *

 **A/n: *runs around screaming* I know I'm the one that wrote this BUT AHHHHH so much fangirling lol. Now you know why I couldn't contain myself. I mean FINALLY! God, even I was starting to get sick of how long it was taking.**

 **I would apologise for the fact that this was a slightly longer chapter, but I don't think anybody cares lol because FINALLY DRARRY YAY! *smooshes Draco and Harry plushies together* cannot with this excitement rn.**

 **Anyway, I hope I have fulfilled all you guys's wishes! This chapter was sorta a rollercoaster ride of emotions for both Drarry and us, so go take a break while I write the next one.**

 **Do review and let me know if you're fangirl/boying as hard as I am right now!**

 **Thanks for reading. Lots of love,**

 **Arty xxxx**


	30. 30 Lies: Crescendo

**A/n: I know I said I'd update regularly but I stalled this one because I wanted to post it on the first anniversary of this story (which is in two days, btw) but I got impatient and had to post earlier.**

 **Can you believe it's been a year? So many things have changed since I started writing this story, especially the fact that I have grown so much more comfortable with writing the Golden Trio characters- which was the reason I started writing this in the first place. I had originally intended to first publish this story on my birthday (which was yesterday) but, as always, things never go according to plan and I ended up posting it three days later.**

 **Anyway, enough of my rambling. Here's a nice, juicy chapter for all you wonderful people.**

* * *

 **Chapter 30**

 **Crescendo**

* * *

 **[November 27 2011]**

 **11:00 AM**

He sat at his desk with his hands clasped, elbows rested on the tabletop, and brows furrowed as he brooded. The memory of the previous evening came to mind yet again, and he swallowed thickly as his lips tingled. His heart began to race, and he felt breathless. The moment he shut his eyes, he was transported back to the sofa in Malfoy Manor, and he could feel Draco's hot breath against his skin, cool fingers wrapped around his wrist, warm lips pressed against his own… it sent jolts of electricity down his spine and made him feel things he never wanted to admit to feeling.

There was a knock on the door, and Ginny poked her head in with a smile. Just the sight of his wife caused immense guilt to well up within him, and every step she took towards him, the greater it got.

"Hi," she said as she came to stand beside him and reached out her hand. He involuntarily jerked back, and confusion flitted across her face. Pushing back his chair quickly, he turned towards her with a smile to make up for it.

"Hey," he said, wincing when his voice cracked.

A small, worried frown appeared on Ginny's face. "What's wrong? You look really stressed out."

"Yeah," he said, rubbing his hands down his face. "Since Buxley's quitting, I've been under a lot of pressure to find an apt replacement and to train said replacement. Add the new trainees and the vandals case to that, and you get a nice, charred brain."

They weren't lies. It was just that he was currently stressed about other things as well.

"Oh, sweetheart," she said, squeezing his shoulder. He tensed, and then forced himself to relax so as to not seem suspicious. "Why don't you go take a nap? You were up all night working and barely got any rest. It's a Sunday. You can afford to take a break."

 _That's not why I was up all night, though,_ his mind supplied helpfully, further heightening his sense of guilt.

He nodded when he saw that Ginny was waiting for a reply. "Yeah, you're right. I'll go take a nap."

She smiled and caressed his cheek before stepping around the table. "Oh, and I just dropped the trio off at the Burrow. George and Ron are there with the kids. They're going to play a couple rounds of Quidditch, or something. The kids were thrilled."

"Right, sounds good."

"And I'm going down to Diagon to get some shopping done. I couldn't go all of this week, so now that I have the time, I may as well."

"Great. Yeah."

They made their way out of the study and down the hall and to their bedroom, Harry tuning out Ginny's chatter as he wallowed in self-loathing and guilt. He changed quickly and got under the covers, and Ginny came over to kiss his forehead as she said bye and turned to leave. He watched her go with his heart in his throat, relaxing only when she disappeared out the door. He made himself comfortable and stared at the ceiling, his mind wandering back to the aftermath of the previous evening.

The kiss hadn't really lasted all that long, even if it felt like it had, and they had pulled away abruptly, both wide-eyed and shocked by what had happened. Everything after that was a blur as they had downed a couple more glasses of wine in an attempt to forget it all. Harry had then begun to excuse himself to clear his head and sober down before he had to get back home, but Draco's house elf had arrived with two tumblers of Pepper-Up Potion, which worked wonders. The boys and Astoria's timely arrival distracted them effectively, and after a few rather awkward and hurried goodbyes, he had returned home with Albus, feeling the sharp stab of a headache in his temples.

After that, he had retired to his study, claiming that he had a lot of work to do and didn't want to be disturbed. He was pretty sure Ginny had smelt the wine on him, and she probably left him be because she must have realised that he needed his space, but after locking the door, he had just thrown himself on the sofa and passed out for a good four hours. When he had woken up, he had felt like shite, and was too overwhelmed by everything to leave his study.

And thus passed a sleepless night of constant brooding and self-loathing. If what had happened with Draco wasn't bad enough, every time his thoughts strayed to Ginny, it all got exponentially worse. Now, lying in bed and staring off into space, he couldn't help the thought that he had been suppressing all night from seeping into his mind: had he cheated on Ginny?

 _No,_ came the immediate answer. _No, you did not. What happened was an accident. It was a one-time thing. It's never going to happen again._

But even as he tried to convince himself so, the feeling of Draco's lips against his returned, and his stomach flipped. Covering his face with his hands, he groaned as he felt himself flush at the memory. _Why did we do it?_ He moaned, pulling the duvet over his head and willing his tumultuous thoughts to shut up and leave him be.

He was making things worse for himself at this rate, so the only thing to do just then was sleep on it.

* * *

 _He gasped, his back arching as a wave of pleasure washed over him. It was so intense that he couldn't help but cry out, his skin breaking out in gooseflesh. He swallowed thickly as cool hands ran up his sides, the icy touch against his burning skin making him shiver. His eyes were closed, so he couldn't see who it was on top of him, and no matter how hard he tried to pry them open, he just couldn't, so he simply gave in to the wonderful sensations._

 _The person shifted above him, hot breath tickling his ear and making his breath catch in his throat. Nails dug into his chest, tracing lines down to his navel, while the other hand reached up and entwined in his hair. He sighed as fingers massaged his scalp, tugging and pulling just the right amount, and he could feel the core of heat blossom in his navel and travel down south._

 _He groaned as the person bit his ear lobe, running their tongue along the edge, leaving a hot trail behind. He wanted to reach up and hold them, but his hands were pinned down, as were his legs, and the inability to move coupled with the slow, teasing ministrations mounted his frustration._

 _The hands roamed down his body, caressing the dips and curves, leaving his burning skin feeling raw. Then they suddenly disappeared, and he gasped, arching upwards in a desperate attempt to find them again, yearning for more, needing the touch, and just as he was starting to lose hope, he felt warm lips brush against his. He sighed as he parted his own, relieved that the person hadn't abandoned him._

 _Fingers twisted in his hair as the kiss deepened, and he lost himself in it, letting himself get taken away by the intense pleasure that coursed through him. When the lips finally pulled away, he panted for air and slowly opened his eyes. He was staring into the face of someone he knew all too well. Orbs of liquid silver shimmered with mirth as a smirk adorned the man's face, his usually immaculate platinum hair falling over his eyes; the sight made Harry's breath catch. He reached up, wrapping his arms around the blond's neck, and pulled him back for another kiss._

* * *

 **1:47 PM**

He started awake, feeling immensely hot and uncomfortable. It took him a few moments of disorientation to regain his bearings, and when he did, he clapped his hands to his face and groaned.

"Shite," he swore as he got out of bed and headed straight to the shower. He threw his sweat-soaked nightclothes in the hamper and stood under the showerhead, revelling at the coolness of the water running down his feverish skin. He placed his palms flat against the wall and closed his eyes as he tried to control his ragged breathing.

The dream was still fresh in his memory, and every time he thought about it, his mouth ran dry. _What is happening to me?_ he wondered woefully. _I'm nearly thirty-five. I shouldn't be having dreams like this. Especially not about—_

He shook his head before he could complete that thought. If this went on, he was going to go mad. Although he didn't want to see Draco after the previous evening—and their most recent escapades in dreamland—he knew that the longer he put off dealing with the issue, the worse it was going to get. If him running away from his nightmares had taught him anything at all, it was that.

He made a decision once and for all to write to Draco and ask the blond to meet with him so they could talk about what had happened. More than answers, he just needed to know that he wasn't the only one this bothered about the whole thing. He needed to know that he wasn't the only one obsessing over it and going crazy—so much so that he was even dreaming about it.

If not closure or clarity, he just wanted the reassurance that he wasn't the only one who was so confused and conflicted over it.

Having made up his mind, he turned off the water and stepped out. Drying himself quickly, he wrapped the towel around his waist and padded out of the bathroom. He was so lost in thought that he didn't notice that someone else had entered the room.

"Harry? Are you in here?"

"Merlin, Hermione!" he exclaimed as he grabbed his shirt and held it to his chest. "Can't you ever knock?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and spun around, only to spare Harry of what little dignity he had left if not anything else. "What're you doing here?" he questioned as he hastened to dress himself. "I thought you were at the Burrow."

"No, I was at home." She paused, as though contemplating whether or not she should continue, and then asked, "Are you done yet?"

"Yeah," he said as he pulled the shirt over his head and slid his glass back on. She turned to face him, a worried frown on her face. "What's the matter?" he asked as she came up to him, her arms crossed.

She sighed, pinched the bridge of her nose, struggled with whatever she wanted to say for a bit, and then motioned towards the bed. "I think you should sit down."

"You're scaring me," he said as he sat down. "What's going on?"

She didn't answer him for a long moment, and when she finally looked up at him, her conflict was clear in her eyes. "Promise me you won't get angry."

"You're only making things works, 'Mione. Just spit it out already," he said with a sigh.

She nodded and rummaged in her coat—which she was still wearing, for some reason, as though she had come to find him in a hurry—pulling out an envelope from the inner pocket. She held it out to him, but as soon as she reached out to take it, she pulled it away.

He groaned. "Hermione, for Godric's sake."

"Alright, alright," she said as she begrudgingly handed him the envelope. "But please promise me you'll consider it calmly before reacting."

Wanting to find out what it was that had Hermione acting so fidgety, he plucked the folded piece of parchment from within the envelope and flipped it open. His eyes widened at what he saw, and his blood ran cold.

He looked up at Hermione, wide-eyed, his mouth hanging open. "What…?"

"It arrived in our post an hour ago. I tried to find out who the sender was, but I couldn't find a trace of the owl that delivered it. I wasn't sure what to do about it and finally decided to come to you."

Staring down at what was most definitely a threatening note, he read it out loud. " _'If you know what's best for you and your family, stay away'_?"

The text was made from cut up newspaper headlines, and the photograph on the top was a long shot of a woman who was undoubtedly Ginny, even if she was wearing a dark hat, cloak and glasses in order to not be recognised. She was kneeling down on the ground, a blond boy standing beside her, his back to the camera. They were both looking at each other, and a moment later, simultaneously snapped their heads to the side, as though they had heard someone or something.

Harry shook his head. "Who the hell is this boy?" he squinted down at the picture, but the two were too far away from the camera to clearly make out who it was. He could only see the back of the boy's head and part of his face when he turned.

"I don't know," Hermione said. "And I don't know why this arrived at our house."

"Yeah," Harry mused. "Why did it? This letter was obviously meant for Ginny, so why was it sent to your place?"

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose again, looking exhausted. "I thought about it a lot, and I could only come up with one answer that made the most sense to me."

"And what's that?"

She sighed and shrugged. "What if…what if Ginny gave our house address to whoever this person was as her own address? I mean, we've done something similar multiple times when we were forced to fill in forms and stuff before."

"But we've always given fake ones. Why would she give _your home_ address to this person, especially since it seems like he isn't really on good terms with her?"

"I don't know, Harry," Hermione said in a resigned voice. "I've racked my head over this for so long, but I just can't think of anything. And seeing as you don't have any answers, either, I think the only thing we can do is directly ask the person herself."

"No!" he exclaimed before he could stop himself, and Hermione started. Collecting himself, he added, "Do you honestly think Ginny'd tell us if she knew? She'd probably feign ignorance and then try to fix the problem on her own."

Hermione pursed her lips, and Harry knew she knew he was right. Ginny was stubborn about the weirdest things, much like he was, and considering he was doing pretty much the exact same thing with his nightmares, he was sure his wife wouldn't do any less.

"Then what do you suggest?" Hermione asked, tucking a strand of her bushy hair behind her ear.

Harry eyed the note again, trying to figure out a simpler way of finding out who it was from. The more he thought about it, the clearer it became that they would need outside help. "We may have to take this down to Li first thing tomorrow."

"You're getting Forensics to help?" Hermione questioned, clearly not having expected him to make that decision.

"It's the fastest way to find our perpetrator. We don't know if whoever sent this will do good on their threat."

Hermione looked around, as though searching for something. "Speaking of—where's Ginny?"

He groaned, slapping his palm to his forehead. "She's in Diagon right now. This could be bad. I should go—"

"Harry." She grabbed him by the arm and gave him an intense look. "Don't you think Ginny'd find it suspicious if you were to suddenly up and appear in Diagon for no good reason?"

"But—"

"Besides, she should be back any time, now."

They shared a look for a long moment, and Harry finally relented with a nod. "You're right."

They sat in silence for a while, each left to their own thoughts, and Harry eyed the photograph, still trying to figure out who the boy was. After a time, he ventured a question. "Do you think…do you think he looks like Ginny?"

"What?" Hermione leaned forwards to look at the boy, her brows furrowed, till realisation hit her and she snapped back with her mouth hanging open. "What are you insinuating, Harry?"

He shrugged, his heart starting to race and his skin starting to heat up. "Nothing. I'm just considering the possibilities."

"The possibility that that boy could be Ginny's illegitimate child?"

He shrugged again, raking a hand through his air, eyes glued to the photo.

"Harry James Potter," Hermione said sternly, "your wife is _not_ having an affair! Besides, that boy looks like he's as old as Jamie! There's no way she could have had _two_ sons at the same time."

Shaking his head, he sighed. "Yeah, you're right. I just—I can't think of any reason for her to be meeting this boy in that getup. And the way they snap their heads up, as though they're worried someone found them, it's too suspicious."

"I agree," Hermione said, taking the photograph from him. "I thought the same, but I couldn't come up with anything concrete, either. I can't figure out a reason sensible enough for who this child could be and how he's involved with Ginny."

"Not to mention the fact that this note was sent to _your_ doorstep and not ours."

Hermione sighed. "You have no idea how glad I am that Ron and the kids had left when this arrived. Ron would've had a fit if he were to see this."

"Best we keep it away from him, then," he said, taking the note and walking over to the wardrobe. He slipped it into the hidden pocket inside his Auror robes and sealed it shut.

"Well, I better head home. I still have work to finish," Hermione said tiredly as she rose to her feet and straightened her coat. He walked over to her and hugged her, and they stood like that for a moment before pulling apart. "I hope," she began, her voice muffled as she stared at the ground, "for everyone's sake that whatever Ginny has gotten herself into isn't as dangerous as I think it is."

"Yeah. Me too."

She finally looked up at him, brown eyes shimmering with uncertainty and worry. "Because, Harry, Ginny may not be the only one in danger, here. Whoever that boy is, he may just be in more trouble than her."

"Then we gotta find him, and fast."

* * *

 **4:39 PM**

He entered the restaurant, eyes immediately searching for the familiar platinum-blond as he made his way to the tables at the very back. As Draco had said in his letter, he was seated at the farthest table from the door. It was almost completely in the shadows and reminded Harry of the time he had met Neville before Lestrange's release.

"Sorry I'm late," he said as he took off his coat and slung it over the back of his chair. "Did you wait long?"

"No, I just got here myself," Draco replied with a smile that caused a knot to form in Harry's stomach.

Harry nodded and settled back in his seat, feeling a cold sweat break out on his forehead as he drummed his fingers against his thighs awkwardly. Draco shifted forwards into the light, the flame of the small, scented candle on the table flickering in his silver eyes. "So… how are you?"

"I'm… great," Harry said with a shrug, but when Draco raised his eyebrows, the corners of his lips curving upwards, he cleared his throat and said, "That's a lie. I'm really not doing too well."

Draco nodded sagely, eyeing his clasped fingers and the tablecloth before looking up to meet Harry's gaze. "Neither am I."

Harry had expected that admission to cause him relief and make him feel like a burden had been lifted off his shoulders, but, instead, he felt his mouth go dry and a lump formed in his throat as his stomach twisted. "Oh?" was all he could manage as he licked his lips and swallowed thickly, his breath coming out in short gasps.

The blond's eyes glittered with emotion, something that Harry had never really seen before, considering how guarded Draco was all the time, and that made Harry feel even more conflicted. He had prepared himself to cut ties with Draco if things took a turn for the worst, but now, sitting across from him and seeing the vulnerability in the man's eyes, Harry only had the urge to reach over and hold him, forget even the thought of breaking ties with him forevermore.

Leaning closer, Draco said, "Harry, I—" and then stopped abruptly, his mouth clamping shut as he sat back and looked past Harry.

Just before Harry turned around himself, a very familiar voice greeted them. "Why, if it isn't the dynamic duo! What a pleasant surprise indeed!"

A thin smile spread across Draco's face as he looked up at the beautiful blonde who had just arrived and greeted her through gritted teeth. "Camilla."

Camilla ignored him in favour for Harry, and, to his bewilderment, bent down to hug him briefly before saying, "It is _so_ good to see you again! I was actually telling Draco that you and I should go out for a meal the other day."

Harry glanced towards the other man and murmured, "Is that so," but Draco refused to meet his eyes and continued to stare intently at the woman before him.

Some sort of silent communication passed between the two as Harry watched, and Camilla said, "Well, although I would love to stay and chat, I really must take my leave. My best friend's surprised me by dropping home for a visit, and I had to rush over to get us something decent to eat. Apparently last night's gravy isn't good enough for him." Camilla fluffed her hair, making Harry wonder if she had behaved in such a girly way before. "You two boys enjoy yourselves," she said, shooting Draco a pointed smile, and when the blond nodded in the most imperceptible way, Harry realised that she must have fibbed to spare them of the awkwardness.

Feeling a newfound respect for the woman, he smiled up at her as she bid him goodbye and couldn't help but say, "We really should go out to lunch some time soon."

Camilla's eyes shone with delight as she said, "I would love that. I'll see you soon, then. Tata!" And with a fancy twirl of her wrist, she sauntered away, and Harry could almost hear her laughing to herself.

When he turned back to Draco, who was rolling his eyes, he said, "Does she know she's a terrible actress?"

Draco made a motion with his hand that caused Harry to snort as he said, "I _know,_ right? My _God_ , that woman will be the death of me. She does that just to annoy me."

"She's done it before?" Harry questioned as he relaxed, glad that Camilla's timely arrival had effectively served to lighten the tense atmosphere.

The blond sighed, shaking his head. "Almost every time I met Astoria here for lunch and she would run into us. There's a reason my wife doesn't like her. Astoria thinks Camilla behaves that way to mock her, even though I've tried to explain several times that she only just does it to get under my skin."

Harry chuckled, stretching a leg out as he settled back. "Looks like it's working."

Draco opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, their feet touched beneath the table, and both men froze. Heart thundering in his chest, Harry held his breath, too afraid to move, even to pull his leg back. Draco seemed to be in the same position, because he was staring at Harry wide-eyed, and the latter could almost see the gears whirring in the blond's brain as he tried to come up with some way to diffuse the tension.

The other man fumbled, lost for words, and Harry decided to rise to the occasion for once and stuttered, "I—I'm sorry."

"No, no," Draco said, waving a hand, and Harry noticed suddenly that the tips of his ears had gone red. _That is somehow really cute,_ he found himself thinking before he could stop himself. "Please, don't apologise," Draco continued, and Harry sat up straight.

Heart hammering away, he asked, "Apologise for what?"

Draco paused for a moment before saying softly, "For anything."

Harry swallowed thickly, feeling like he would explode at any moment. "Why not?"

"Because… I don't want you to."

The lump in his throat was barely allowing him to breathe, let alone speak, so he only just managed to repeat himself as he asked, "Why not?"

"Because," Draco began and then stopped, possibly from not wanting to say the same thing again, and Harry watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. "Because it wouldn't be right."

"I don't know what you mean."

Draco shook his head, his wide eyes fixed on Harry yet it seemed like he was looking far past him, "I don't either."

"Draco," Harry said, placing his elbows on the table and leaning forwards. "We _need_ to talk about this."

"Do we?" the blond murmured, and Harry reached up and snapped his fingers in front of the blonde's face, effectively bringing him out of his dazed state. Draco flushed, his cheeks colouring, and he cleared his throat. "Sorry, I just…" Harry allowed the man a moment to regain his usual calmness, almost amused by all these different sides of Draco he was getting to see that day. "You're right. We really do."

"And?"

"And what?"

"Why did you do it?"

Draco sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. When he finally opened his eyes again, there was a somewhat resigned look in them. "I don't know. It was just a spur-of-the-moment sort of thing, I suppose."

If it were any other situation or any other person telling him this, he would have bought it, but just then, Harry had a feeling Draco wasn't telling the truth. "You're lying," he said, and instead of disagreeing, the blond only nodded.

"I am."

"Then why?" Harry urged, his need to know overwhelming everything else. This was one of those things that were far too important to let go of, and if he didn't get a proper answer from Draco, he felt like it would create a rift between them—much like what had happened with him and Ginny.

"To be honest," Draco began, his eyes never leaving Harry's and making the latter feel oddly nervous, "it wasn't a complete lie. I didn't really know why I did it myself, but the more I thought about it, the more obvious the answer became."

Harry shifted in his seat. The anticipation was killing him.

Draco shrugged, and it would have seemed almost nonchalant if Harry didn't know that the blond was having an even harder time than him just then. "Before that," Draco said, "I would like to ask you something as well."

Heart in his mouth, he said, "And what's that?"

Stormy eyes fixed on his own emerald ones, and Draco said in a low voice, "Why did you reciprocate?"

His breath catching in his throat, he felt as though he would pass out from the sheer stress of the current situation, but the more he tried to tear his eyes away from Draco's, the more he was unable to. "I—I don't know," he finally managed, his mouth dry, but the blond seemed unconvinced.

"Really?" he asked, and Harry knew that the tables had turned. He felt that it was completely unfair of Draco to have done so—simply because Harry didn't _want_ to answer that question. But he knew the blond wouldn't relent until he gave an acceptable reply, and after a lot of deliberation and wishing a hole would open up beneath him and swallow him up, he finally shook his head no. Draco leaned forwards, his eyes intense, as though they would be able to see through Harry the instant he lied. "So why did you?" Draco questioned again when too much time had passed with Harry struggling to speak.

"I—" he wanted to say _I don't know_ , but both him and Draco knew that it wasn't true. The words he wanted to say were right at the tip of his tongue, his brain replaying them over and over again and coaxing him to spit them out. He swallowed thickly and decided that it was now or never as he blurted out, "Because I wanted to."

Draco sat back slowly, a mixture of satisfaction and surprise on his face as they both processed what Harry had just said. _Because I wanted to._

 _Is it really that simple?_ he thought as he eyed the blond. From the way Draco was looking at him, Harry knew that what he had said hadn't applied to just him. It had applied to Draco as well.

They had kissed because they wanted to. And just the realisation and admission of that made Harry's reason and rationale spiral out of control. He couldn't take back his words even if he wanted to because it was the truth.

The two men simply sat staring at each other as the words echoed in the silence between them.

 _Because I wanted to._

* * *

 **A/n: Aaaand there we go. Happy (early) anniversary to this story! I am so proud that my babies have finally admitted to their feelings.**

 **And for all of you that have been dying to know what Ginny's been up to- you shall know soon enough. So I hope I have you convinced that she's not having an affair. But then what is she up to, you ask? Well, let's just say that things are spiralling out of control faster than our beloved characters can keep up with.**

 **Before I leave you to your fangirl/boying, I just wanted to say a huge huge _huge_ thank you to each and every one of you who has followed, favourited or reviewed this story- especially the ones who have stuck with me from day one. Y'all are the reason I've come this far and I cannot thank you enough.**

 **I love you, you beautiful people, and so does Drarry.**

 **P.S. Don't forget to review and show some love!**

 **P.P.S. wasn't that steamy dream the absolute best? I want to write more just because Drarry is so perfect agh.**

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **Arty xx**


	31. 31 Lies: Descendo

**A/n: Apparently I'm terrible at keeping my promise of updating regularly. Sorry. This chapter gave me a little too much trouble. But hopefully I've made up for my lateness.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Chapter 31**

 **Descendo**

* * *

 **[November 28 2011]**

 **1:17 PM**

He walked into the Forensics lab and made a beeline for the bespectacled wizard in a labcoat standing across the large room. When he had approached Li earlier that day, the man had promised to have useable information ready for Harry by noon and had asked him to come to the lab once everyone had left for lunch. As Harry approached the desk the man was hunched over, Li looked up.

"Good to see you again, sir!" He greeted with a smart salute.

Harry smiled and nodded as he came to stand on the other side of the cluttered desk. "How was it? Did you manage to find anything?"

Li muttered as he shuffled about, looking for something. He made his way around the desk and to the cluttered table on the other side, using a spell to push off the mess to reveal a small workstation. "Here we go." He held out a crumpled piece of parchment that had faint fingerprints on it. "I managed to pull prints from the note and was able to find the person to whom they belonged in the database."

"And who would that be?" Harry questioned, a mix of anticipation and trepidation filling him as he took the parchment from the other man.

The brunet reached into his pocket and pulled out a second piece of parchment, squinting at the myriad of scribbles on it. "One… Greggory Grant. He used to live somewhere in Grantham, but apparently fell off the grid at some point, and his whereabouts are currently unknown."

"Unknown?" Harry snapped, and then dialled his irritation down a notch when Li started. "So even after all this we have no idea where he is?"

The bespectacled wizard held up a finger, a glint in his narrow eyes as a thin smile spread across his pale face. "According to the database we don't, but, of course, I went beyond the generic means of finding his location and did some _experimental digging_ , as I like to call it."

Harry frowned, unsure of what exactly the man was talking about, and watched as Li went around his desk and pulled open a drawer. He took something from it and held it up, and Harry had to move closer to see what it was. As it turned out, it was the picture of Ginny and the boy that had been in the note. Confused, he looked back at Li, and the brunet only continued to grin, as though waiting for Harry to come to whatever realisation by himself.

"Li," Harry said with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I don't have time for games. What've you got for me?"

Shoulders slumping in obvious disappointment, Li pointed at the photo and said, "I was able to figure out the location in this photograph by matching what little is visible in the background to a magnified, three dimensional map of Britain."

Harry stared, mouth hanging open. "You… _what?"_

Li grinned. "It's a new technology I've been developing to help us use images to quickly pinpoint locations. I won't go into the specifics of it, but I succeeded by using a variation of the Homonculus Charm and an imaging device to create a lifelike hologram of the map of Britain that can be produced at will. It isn't close to completion, considering the sheer number of streets, landmarks, railways and such in the country, but right now I've succeeded in mapping out the most important wizarding locations as well as a few nearby ones."

Harry only stared at the man in awe, wondering if such a thing was even possible, and couldn't help but think, _It's like magic._ He mentally slapped himself, though, because it _was_ magic, and when Li managed to complete this device or whatever it was, he knew it would change the way in which Aurors functioned forevermore.

"That's… unbelievable," he said to a smug Li. "I would love to hear more about your invention later, but right now, I need to know what you managed to find."

"Right, of course," the man said, and Harry could see his enthusiasm deflate in the slightest as he regained the professional air about him. "Well, I couldn't pinpoint one single location in such a short period of time, but I _did_ manage to narrow it down to the most likely ones."

He flipped the photograph over, and stuck to the back of it was a list of names, none of which instantly clicked with Harry. They were somewhat familiar, but not places he could see Ginny frequenting. Considering that, he thought it unlikely that any of the places on the list could be right, but he had no leads other than the one in his hand, so he had no choice but to crosscheck them himself.

"Sir? Something wrong?"

Harry cleared his throat and slipped the photograph into his pocket. "No, I think I may have found something. Excellent work, Li. I knew it was the right decision to come to you."

The man beamed as they made their way to the door, and Harry questioned, "What about the boy? Any progress on finding out who he is?"

"Unfortunately, no. The photo wasn't taken by a very good camera, and considering it's a long shot, I could barely make out either of their faces. The background was much simpler to put together, but faces are more specific and rather difficult. I could try again, though—"

"No, that's fine, thank you. I'll come back if I need something else."

"Of course, sir," Li said as he held the door open for Harry. "I'm always at your service."

Harry thanked the man and exited the lab, his heart thundering in his chest. With a myriad of questions swirling in his mind, he made his way to his office, all the while wondering what his next course of action should be.

He couldn't ask any of his Aurors to go check the locations out without divulging a certain amount of information, and the fact that he had involved Li was bad enough. He couldn't risk people from his workplace starting to get suspicious about what he was up to.

 _But I need help,_ he thought to himself desperately as he sat at his desk, feeling the emotional stress overwhelm him. He could ask Hermione, but he didn't want to involve her more than necessary and force her to keep any more secrets from Ron. If the fact that he was using Ministry resources for his own personal agenda came to light, they'd both be in serious trouble. And the last thing he needed was to drag Hermione down with him.

 _But then… what do I do?_

* * *

 **3:43 PM**

Considering everything, he was much too impatient to wait until half past five—which was when his session with Draco was—to go down to Antares, and thus, with a hurried excuse that caused Buxley to frown at him suspiciously, he Floo-d home. Quickly making his way to his study, glad that Ginny and the kids were outside, he threw the green powder into his private fireplace and Floo-d to Draco's office.

He had come to the conclusion that he needed outside help, and the longer he thought about it, the more obvious the answer became. He could consult Draco about this. The confidentiality clause already reassured that his secret was safe, and he knew that if there was anybody who could help him get through this sticky situation, it was Draco.

As Harry stepped out of the fireplace, the blond looked up in surprise and took off his glasses while placing his quill down. "Harry?" he asked as he rose from his seat and came around the desk. "You're early. Is something the matter?"

Harry strode over to his usual armchair and flopped down on it. "I need your help. It's urgent."

Concern clouding his grey eyes, Draco frowned and nodded as he came to sit by Harry. "What's wrong? You look flustered."

Not knowing where to start from the sheer amount of information swirling in his head, he simply pulled out the photograph and held it out to the other man. Draco took it from him and scrutinised it, his brows furrowing in concentration as he attempted to identify the two in the image. "Who…?"

Leaning forward, Harry stretched his arm out to point at the woman in the coat and hat. "You can't really make out, but that's Ginny."

Draco brought the photograph closer to his face and squinted at it for a long moment before nodding slowly. "Now that you mention it… it _does_ look a lot like her…"

"Because it _is_ her."

"And this boy?"

Harry shrugged. "I have no idea yet." He shifted in his seat. "But I'm about to find out."

Draco looked up, apprehension clear on his face as he asked, "What is this about, Harry? What's going on?"

Harry shrugged again and shook his head. "Right now, my guess is as good as yours."

The blond leaned forward, his eyes intense. "Tell me everything."

* * *

Harry watched as Draco sat scrutinising the list behind the photo, a thoughtful frown on his face. After a long moment, he brought a finger to his lips and hummed.

"What?" Harry asked, leaning forwards in his seat.

Draco held out the list and pointed to one of the names. "I don't know if this matters, but this town is relatively close by."

"Close by to here?" Harry asked as he took the list and stared at the name Draco had pointed to.

"Yeah. The others are quite scattered about and didn't seem all that familiar, but this one I'm sure of. I've been there quite a few times myself since Camilla lives there."

Harry snapped to attention and stared at Draco wide-eyed. "Camilla _lives_ there? Then do you think…?"

Draco shrugged. "I can't be sure whether or not Camilla has seen your wife, but I could ask her to look around, if you—"

"No." Harry shook his head. "No. I don't want to involve any more people in this than I already have. I'll go take a look myself."

The blond nodded in understanding, but he had a musing look on his face. Harry waited for Draco to speak his mind, and the latter did, after a time. "It's just… it's a Muggle town. Just like this one. So if your perpetrator lives there, then there may be more to this story than we think."

"Oh, there most definitely is more to this than we think. And I won't stop until I find out what it is."

"Harry." Draco was looking at Harry with concerned eyes. "I know why you're bent upon finding out the truth, but maybe you should take a step back and analyse things before jumping straight into the fray."

"There's no time for that," Harry said with a sigh. "I still don't know who this Greggory Grant person is or how he's related to Ginny. And I have no clue who this boy is, either. Right now, I have more questions than answers, and I can't stand not knowing. One or more people's lives may be in danger here, and if I don't act swiftly…"

He trailed off as he looked up and saw that Draco was watching him with an odd expression. "What is it?" he questioned, a tad annoyed.

"No, it's just…" Draco paused and shook his head. "It's nothing."

Harry sighed. "You know better than that, Draco." Reaching out, he placed a hand on the blond's knee, like he would when he was trying to get a witness to speak their mind, and said, "Tell me."

Draco had a conflicted expression on his face and, after a long pause, said, "Don't take this the wrong way, but don't you think what you're doing right now is very similar to what you did back in Hogwarts?"

"I don't understand," Harry replied with a frown.

"Well… I feel like you may be reading into this too much and jumping to conclusions too soon." Harry sat back, stung, but Draco continued; "Like you said, you barely have any information to go on, and right now, don't you think your own misgivings are clouding your judgement?"

"Maybe, but as an Auror—"

"Harry." He snapped his mouth shut and frowned at having been interrupted, but allowed Draco to speak anyway. "What I'm trying to say is that this isn't like back then."

Harry pursed his lips. "What exactly are you getting at?"

Draco's eyes softened and he inclined his head, giving Harry the impression of someone who meant no harm. "What I'm trying to say is that now you have _me._ Let me help you."

The corners of Harry's mouth pulled upwards as he scoffed. "And why exactly do you think I'm here, if not for your help?"

Draco blinked, apparently surprised. "But—I thought you were only here to vent, and—really?"

Harry grinned. "Really." Then, sobering down, he looked at the blond intently. "Will you help me?"

"Of course," Draco said, a small smile on his face. "But, on one condition."

"And what's that?"

"You have to calm down so we can think about this rationally. There's no use getting in over our heads and jumping the gun."

A wry smile on his face, Harry murmured, "Sometimes I find it astounding how alike you and Hermione are."

Draco's brows shot up, his eyes shimmering. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"I meant it as one."

Draco then pointed at the picture in Harry's hand. "Alright, then. Shall we?"

With a nod, Harry handed over the piece of paper and leaned forwards as the blond summoned his quill. "First things first—we're going to forget everything we've found out up until now and rework our way from square one."

"Right."

"So… when did you say this note arrived?"

* * *

 **7:29 PM**

Harry sighed, frustrated, raking a hand through his hair as he watched Draco talk to an old Muggle behind a counter.

This was the third town of the half dozen or so on their list that they had been to, and, so far, everything they had found out was even less useful than what little they already knew. He was hoping that they might strike gold in this town because it was where Camilla lived, but, for better or for worse, it didn't seem like they would.

He growled under his breath when Draco looked his way and shook his head. Shoving his hands in his pockets, Harry exhaled, glaring at the puff of breath that escaped his lips.

"This is getting nowhere," he snapped when Draco reached him.

The blond sighed, looking half as frustrated as Harry felt. "I know. I had a feeling this place would be the one."

Harry nodded. "That makes the two of us." Glancing sideways at the man as they made their way towards the nearest alleyway, he asked, "So, what now? Do we call it quits for today?"

Draco didn't reply immediately and kept glancing down at the folded photograph with the list on it. He stopped abruptly, causing Harry to walk back a few steps, his brows furrowed.

"What?" Harry questioned, looking at the list over Draco's shoulder. "What is it?"

"This has been bothering me for a while now, and I finally figured out why." He pointed at the second-to-last name on the list. "Isn't this a rather small village in-between here and Antares?"

Harry frowned at the name, racking his brains but not finding it familiar. "Is it?"

Draco started to walk again, waving the photograph as he turned into the alley. "I'm sure of it. It's very small and off the road, so most people wouldn't even know it existed, but—"

"—But it's the perfect place for someone on the run," Harry finished, the gears finally clicking in place.

Draco smirked at him and held his elbow out. "Shall we?"

"With a grin, Harry grabbed onto the man's arm. "Oh, don't mind if I do."

* * *

They walked into the only establishment that showed any signs of life in the quaint village, both men breathing sighs of relief as the warmth inside the tavern enveloped them.

"Sorry, laddies. We're closed for the day," a squat, middle-aged Muggle woman said as she burst in through a side door and hobbled over to the counter. "Din'cha see the sign?"

"Our apologies, Madam," Draco said smoothly, a smile that could melt a solid bar of butter in moments adorning his face. "We're here on important business and will only take a moment of your time."

The woman frowned, unimpressed by Draco's suaveness, but Harry couldn't say the same for himself. He cleared his throat and tore his eyes away from the blond's face, feeling a flush creep up his neck, to fix them on the Muggle's when she eyed him sceptically.

"We're really sorry for barging in here so late, Ma'am, but we would be extremely grateful if you could help us," he said, putting on his genial Auror smile.

She didn't seem convinced, but must have reckoned that they weren't going to leave without getting what they wanted, so she nodded resignedly and said, "Alright. What can I do ya for?"

"Do you perchance know of a man named Greggory Grant?" Draco asked while Harry watched the woman's face to gauge her reaction.

Her eyes widened momentarily and she went rigid, but she regained her previous demeanour of ill-feigned annoyance so quickly that Harry would have questioned the change in her attitude if he hadn't caught it.

"Never heard'a him," she grunted, turning her back to them as she went through the exaggerated motions of someone feigning ignorance. She clattered about with empty mugs and jars, muttering under her breath, and Harry and Draco exchanged knowing glances.

"Ma'am, if you could help us—"

"I told 'ya that I don' know him, din' I?" she barked, her heavy accent further cementing Harry's suspicion that she was lying. One look at her, and Harry knew that if they pushed any further, she was going to kick up a fuss. That was the last thing he needed right now, but he was desperate. Without this information, he would have to take the long road to finding Grant, and he simply did not have the time for that. Merlin knew when the fellow would make good on his threat.

"Fair enough," Draco said, interrupting Harry's frustrated thoughts. "Could I trouble you for a glass of water, then?"

The Muggle looked like she would rather eat her fist than comply to Draco's wish, but long years of serving insufferable patrons must have taught her to bite back her dislike for them and do her job. She plucked a glass tumbler from the shelf behind her, dragged a can of water over, and poured Draco a glass. Placing it on the counter with so much force that the water sloshed over the edge, she grumbled as she turned around to refill the can.

In a flash, Draco reached into his coat and extracted a tiny vial of clear liquid. He uncorked it and flicked his wrist, allowing a few drops to fall into the water before replacing the cork and returning it to its place within his coat. He swirled the water around for a moment and when the woman turned back around and eyed him with a frown, smiled innocently at her.

Harry stared at him, wondering what in heaven's name he was up to, and suddenly, Draco banged his fist on the counter, startling both Harry and the landlady. "You better tell us all you know, or else…"

The woman went red in the face and looked like she was about to explode, but Draco caught Harry's eye at that moment and glanced at the Muggle before looking back at him. It took Harry less than a second to put two and two together, and he turned to the fuming Muggle, hands held up.

"I'm really sorry," he said, sidestepping in front of Draco so she would be forced to look at him. "This guy's got a short fuse. We really mean no harm."

"I'mma call the guards on ye if ye don't get out righ' now!" she barked, her face turning purple.

"Alright," Harry said, still holding his hands up. "Alright. We're leaving." He stepped aside and turned on his heel, motioning for Draco to follow him.

"Wait, Harry—"

"Just trust me," he whispered, and they made their way to the door. Harry paused with his hand on the doorknob, waiting to hear the _clink_ of glass on wood, and a moment later he did, followed by a sigh. Shooting Draco a smug smile, he counted till ten before turning around.

The Muggle woman was frowning down at the empty glass of water, as though she suspected that it was something else. Harry and Draco walked back to the counter, much to her dismay, and just as she opened her mouth to scream at them, Harry asked, "Can you tell me who Greggory Grant is?"

The woman opened her mouth, probably to say no, and Harry watched as her eyes widened in surprise when she said, instead, "Greggory Grant… used to live here with his son not too long ago in the ramshackle house behind the stream… can't see it from the road 'cause it's hidden behind a thicket…"

"Used to? He doesn't live here any more?"

"No."

"Do you know where he is?"

"No."

"Do you know when he left?"

She shrugged. "One day two brats from down the road went to poke around the old house and found it empty."

Harry exchanged a glance with Draco before turning back to the Muggle. "You said he has a son?"

"Yes."

"Can you describe him for me?"

"Blue eyes… golden hair… light skin… about eight years old… very gentle and caring… good-hearted… everyone adored him…"

Swallowing back the lump that had formed in his throat, he held out his hand to Draco, eyes still fixed on the landlady, only looking away when he felt the rough edge of the photograph in his fingers. He unfolded it and held it out to the woman. "This boy… does he look like Grant's son?"

She stared at it, but no recognition flashed in her eyes and Harry had to quell his irritation. _Of course she can't tell. You can barely even make out that it's a person,_ he chastised himself, but decided to try a different question.

"Can you tell me the son's name?"

"Dan… Daniel… Daniel Grant…"

His heart thundered in his chest as a long-forgotten image of a certain blue-eyed boy with golden curls and a stolen loaf of bread in his arms flashed through his mind. He clicked the hidden slit up his right sleeve with his nail and pulled his wand out till the tip was in his palm. Pointing it at the woman, he whispered, "I'm sorry," and then waved his arm. " _Obliviate."_

Her eyes became glassy and her jaw fell slack, and he caught her before she fell to the ground. Leaning over the counter, he eased her to the floor and turned to Draco.

"Did you get what you wanted?" he questioned, sounding somewhat indifferent, and Harry nodded.

"Yeah. Let's go."

Draco held out his elbow, and the moment Harry touched the blond's arm, he felt the familiar tug of Side-Along Apparition, and the ground fell away from beneath him.

* * *

"Why do you have a vial of Veritaserum in your coat?" Harry asked the moment his feet were on solid ground.

"Before that," Draco replied, motioning to the sofa. Harry collapsed on it with a sigh and rubbed his hands down his face, exhausted. "Here." He looked up to see Draco holding out a teacup and took it, grateful. Sipping it to make sure it wouldn't scald his tongue, he gulped it down.

Draco frowned, looking like he had something to say about Harry gulping his tea, but remained silent.

"That was brilliant, though," he said once he had placed the cup down. "Wouldn't have pegged you for someone who would have a trick like that up his sleeve."

Draco shrugged a shoulder as he eyed his tea. "I've witnessed and experienced many a thing in my life, Harry, a lot of which would surprise you."

Harry scoffed at that. "I'm sure."

"Anyway," Draco said as he put down his cup, and Harry stifled a yawn. He was exhausted and wanted to go home and sleep, but he knew it would be impolite to excuse himself just then, considering Draco had gone out of his way to do Harry a favour. "Is the information we managed to glean from that Muggle woman useful to you at all?"

Harry nodded. "I think so, yeah." When Draco waited for an explanation, Harry continued, "I'm not sure you remember—"

"I'm sure I do."

Harry pursed his lips, and Draco held up his hands. "Sorry. Go on."

"Do you remember the first time I came here?"

The blond quirked an eyebrow, the corners of his lips upturning in a smirk. "Do I?"

Harry rolled his eyes and said, "Right. So I wasn't completely honest with you about what brought me here that day."

Draco nodded, and Harry knew the blond wanted to say, "I know," but was sparing him of his sass. "Well," Harry said, swallowing thickly. "The nightmare from that night had been triggered by a particular event from the previous day…"

* * *

"Are you sure it's the same boy?" Draco questioned as Harry finished narrating his fateful encounter with one blue-eyed, golden-haired boy by the name of Dan Grant.

"I'm almost positive. The longer I think about it, the more sense it makes that the child would be in this town. It isn't too far from the village."

"But why was he stealing food?" Draco asked, looking ill. "What is his father up to?"

Harry shook his head with a sigh. "I don't know. But what I do know is that we're going to have to go back to that place and scope out the house they used to live in. Only…" he trailed off, and Draco eyed him curiously.

"Only what?"

Harry shrugged a shoulder and said, "Well, it might not be as easy as it sounds. I can't get my Aurors to do it, which means we're going to have to do it ourselves, and although it didn't seem like anybody saw us today, we can never be too sure."

Seeing that Draco was eyeing him with an amused expression on his face, Harry snapped tiredly, "What?"

The blond shrugged. "Nothing. I'm just surprised that you're being so cautious after all this time when you were so gung-ho about it before."

"Better safe than sorry. And now I have actual leads that may direct us to the perpetrator—who we still don't know much about—so we need to consider our next move carefully."

Draco was silent and Harry let him ponder as he settled back. He could feel a slow warmth blossoming from within his stomach, and he frowned. "Did you dose my tea with Calming Draught again?"

The blond smiled, although it looked more like he was trying not to smirk. "You seemed frazzled and I thought it would help."

Harry sighed. "Don't blame me if I fall asleep on your sofa."

"Don't worry. You're not as heavy as you look."

Harry flushed as he remembered that he had, in fact, fallen asleep on Draco's sofa some time back. He pushed his embarrassment aside as he turned halfway so he was facing the blond.

"I know I've already asked you for too much, but do you think you can do something else for me?"

Draco scoffed. "Just spit it out already, Potter."

Harry scratched the back of his neck, offering the blond a sheepish smile. The Calming Draught was starting to take effect and he could feel the familiar warmth spread through him. "Would you go check out Grant's house tomorrow?"

"Just me?" Draco asked, an eyebrow raised.

"I understand if you don't want to," Harry said quickly. "I would go, but I left the office early today and my deputy was already eyeing me suspiciously. If I skip out on work tomorrow, he's going to confront me about it, and I'm terrible at lying to him. I could still go in the evening, but I'd lose an entire day then, and—"

"Harry," Draco interrupted Harry's rambling by turning to face him with a half-smirk on his face. "I'll go."

Relieved, he leaned forward, as though drawn towards the blond, inhaling deeply and blinking at the mild scent of Draco's cologne that he had come to love. Draco seemed to instinctively lean backwards, and Harry was reminded of the time in Malfoy Manor when he caught the man glancing down at his mouth for a moment before looking back up. "Thank you," he said softly, his words slurring in the slightest. It had been a while since he had felt this level of induced calmness, and he relished in it.

 _There's also something else,_ his mind added. _It's not just the draught._

Draco's soft voice cut through his daze as he said, "You are very welcome," and Harry's mind said, _Ah… it's him, isn't it?_

He was staring straight into Draco's eyes, his gaze never wavering, and he could see the blond crumble in the slightest under the intensity of it.

"I would never do anything remotely of this sort for anybody else," Draco said after a moment in the same, soft voice, as though he needed to verbally justify it to both Harry and himself.

"I know," Harry replied, and Draco opened his mouth to respond, but Harry closed the distance between them and captured the blond's lips in his own. Draco gasped and went rigid, and Harry lingered only a moment longer before pulling away and looking deep into silver eyes. "I know."

Draco's lower lip quivered, and for a moment Harry thought he looked like he was about to cry, but the emotion passed quickly, leaving only a fire burning in those stormy orbs. "I'm starting to remember…" Draco whispered, staring right back at Harry.

"Yeah?" Harry asked. He could feel Draco's breath on his cheek. Their faces were only inches apart, and he had to will himself not to let his gaze tear away from the blond's and drop down to those pink lips of his.

"…why I used to hate you so much."

He wanted to ask the blond why, but this time it was Draco who leaned forwards, and Harry closed his eyes. He breathed in the scent of lavender, sage and mint, melting into the kiss, thoughts of dangerous criminals making good on their threats and blond boys with curly hair long forgotten.

* * *

 **A/n: This chapter gave me so much trouble that by the end of it all I wanted was for them to kiss. So there you have it. My apologies for taking so long to reign in my muse and bulldoze my way through this update.**

 **Do review and let me know your thoughts and if there's something you want to see happen! I can't promise anything, but I'll do my best to include things that you guys want to read about.**

 **P.S. is it just me or do these Drarry kisses just make you melt?**

 **P.P.S. if I had my way, they'd be in an eternal liplock.**

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **Lots of love,**

 **Arty xx**


	32. 32 Lies: One By One

**A/n: I actually forgot to mention this in the previous chapter, but I just thought it would be ironically amusing to name one of the characters in this story Daniel and have him act as an opposing factor in Harry's life. Yes, I have a twisted mind, I'm sorry orz…**

* * *

 **Chapter 32**

 **One By One**

* * *

 **[November 29 2011]**

 **12:03 AM**

He exhaled through parted lips as he leaned back against his desk, his mind whirring. Draco was probably scoping out Grant's house right now, and Harry was itching to abandon all of his duties and hurry to where the blond was. Especially after the previous evening—following their moment of passion, Harry had excused himself with a half-hearted goodbye and Draco had bid him farewell without hesitation—he had this need to be by the man's side.

Harry didn't quite understand his intense desire to simply be in Draco's presence—to be close enough that he could smell the blond's cologne and feel Draco's breath on his cheek. He didn't even understand what exactly was going on between them. Draco and Harry had already kissed thrice, and although they hadn't exactly been hot and fiery kisses full of lust or desire, they had left him with a deep sense of yearning that he had never quite felt before. It was like he was filled with a sudden bout of extreme hunger that only Draco could satiate.

And he had absolutely no idea what to do about it.

Just thinking about kissing Draco made his stomach flip and his lips tingle. Just picturing those smouldering grey eyes and that challenging smirk made shivers run down his spine and his skin break out in gooseflesh. This was no longer something that could be classified under simple attraction or curiosity, that much he was sure of. It was something much deeper than that—like they gravitated to each other as two celestial bodies would: uncontrollably and irrevocably.

He groaned, feeling restless and fidgety. He needed to do _something_ , he just didn't know what _._ It was like the jitters one felt before something important was going to go down. Grinding his teeth, he rubbed his palms up and down his face, unable to keep his thoughts from meandering back to Draco. Every time the blond's face flashed through his mind, he felt a ball of heat pulse in his abdomen, like a dense coil of desire waiting to burst forth.

"What the hell is happening to me," he hissed under his breath, feeling like somebody—Draco—had coiled themselves around him and was dragging him down to the bottom, leaving Harry struggling and writhing to break free, with no means of escape. It reminded him of his first year at Hogwarts, when Ron, Hermione and he were attempting to break free of the Devil's Snare. He remembered that the more he struggled, the more it strangled him, and the moment he surrendered himself to it, it enveloped him and swallowed him up, depositing him in the place he wanted to be.

 _Draco is my Devil's Snare,_ he thought, a wry smile on his face. _Oh, the irony of it all._

As he dwelled on that thought, there were hurried knocks on his door, and it burst open to reveal a frazzled Rogers.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked as he came around his desk and waited for the man to catch his breath.

"Hunt and his men took two of the recruits out on patrol today," Rogers gasped, sweating profusely, as though he had been running. "And they found something."

He held out a blown up photograph of a dingy alleyway whose walls were spray-painted with coats upon coats of graffiti. Harry's eyes were drawn to red markings on the picture, which outlined a shape that seemed to be drawn over with more graffiti. When Harry looked up at Rogers questioningly, the man motioned for Harry to flip the photograph over. As soon as he did so, Harry's blood ran cold.

On the back of it, traced in the same red outliner, was the reverse of the shape that was on the front. Except now, it made more sense to him, because now, it resembled the Dark Mark.

He looked up at Rogers, his heart starting to race. "Where is this?"

"A back alley in the outskirts of the city," Rogers replied, his voice tense.

Harry strode out of the office, Rogers on his heel, and made his way towards the conference room. "I thought we checked every alley in London."

"We did, sir."

"So this is new?"

"According to the lab it's not more than a week old."

Harry swore under his breath as he threw open the door to the large room and eyed the group that stood inside. Buxley walked over to him and held up a file. Harry took it with a nod and exchanged a glanced with his deputy before turning to the Aurors standing before him. "So," he said to no one in particular as he flipped open the file. "What have we got here?"

"Hunt," Buxley said, and the Auror in question stepped forward. Harry nodded to the scar-faced wizard and waited for him to speak.

"Me and my men," he gestured to two other Aurors standing on his left, "were on our usual patrol of the city. Rogers here had asked if I would take two of our new ones to show them the ropes, and I decided that it was a good idea since we were going to inspect the alleys in the far back and more men meant less time spent in that maze."

Harry nodded and glanced towards the two new recruits. If he remembered correctly, the girl was Alyssa Henley and the lad was Ryan, Buxley's son. "Which of you found the insignia?" he asked them.

"Alyssa—er, Henley here did, sir," Ryan said, looking towards the girl.

Alyssa stepped forward, her expression grim. "I was inspecting the front of the alley while Ryan poked around the back, and I heard a sound. I looked behind me, thinking it was Ryan, but he'd found a connecting alleyway at the end and had gone to check that out. I didn't want to be over cautious, but when I heard another sound, I couldn't help but get a little anxious." She paused, seeming embarrassed at her admission of having been frightened, before continuing. "So I pulled out my pocket mirror and looked through it over my shoulder. I didn't see anyone behind me, but I _did_ notice the insignia. At first I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me, especially when I went to inspect the actual graffiti, but then I realised it was drawn in reverse, so when I saw it through my mirror, I saw it the right way."

She inhaled deeply, her cheeks flushed, and Harry nodded. "Even if we _had_ seen it before, I highly doubt we would have identified it to be what it is." He eyed the photograph and bit back a sigh. Turning to his deputy, he asked, "What do you make of this, Buxley?"

Buxley shrugged a shoulder, his eyes fixed on the picture. "It could either be some no-good brats that think they can outsmart us, or an act of terrorism."

Harry held his breath, feeling like he would implode, then exhaled. "Do you think this may have something to do with those rumours?"

Buxley finally looked up to meet Harry's eyes, his expression grave. "We neither have enough information nor evidence to either support or deny them as of now."

"What rumours?" Ryan asked, shrinking back slightly when all eyes turned to him. Harry glanced sideways to see that Buxley was none too please by his son speaking out of turn.

"There were certain rumours floating around when we initially took up this case," Harry began, hoping to spare the lad of his father's disdain. "We didn't read into them too much back then because rumours like those keep resurfacing as conspiracy theories all the time." He flipped the photograph over and eyed the red-outlined skull, a chill running down his spine. "But we did wonder at one point if these acts of vandalism had anything to do with a new cult trying to resurrect the Death Eaters. And I don't mean that literally," he added, seeing the horrified expressions on Alyssa and Ryan's faces. "I meant the group and what they stand for."

"This is enough to follow up on the rumour, though, wouldn't you say, sir?" Rogers questioned.

Harry nodded. "I think we have enough evidence to start a full-blown investigation. Cult or not, the perpetrators need to be caught before this turns into a joke gone too far and someone gets hurt."

He looked around at the serious faces and paused at Hunt. "Hunt, I want you and your men to take part in this investigation since you lot know those alleyways better than anyone. Whose unit do you cross patrols with?"

"McCurdy, sir."

"Right. Follow up with McCurdy and see if he or his men have noticed anything suspicious in their area. Go." Hunt bowed his head and with a "Yessir," strode out, followed by the two other Aurors. Harry then turned to Rogers. "You're taking the lead in this investigation. I want you to round up every free Auror you can find and get them on this case. And get the recruits to comb through the archives for anything we can use or could've missed. The more hands on deck, the faster we can close this case once and for all."

Rogers nodded enthusiastically and Harry smiled as he clapped the man on the shoulder. "Look smart, Rogers."

"Yessir!"

Harry then turned to Buxley and tapped the file against his deputy's chest. "I leave this operation to you, Buxley. If anyone can get to the bottom of this, it's you."

The older wizard snorted as he took the file from Harry. "I'm not one of the youngins, you know. I don't need you to boost my ego."

"I'm not. I'm only stating the truth," Harry replied with a small smile. Then, with a more serious tone, he said, "Rogers is a little excitable and I don't think too many Aurors are happy that he got to head this case. I trust you'll make sure they keep their petty jealousy in check and that Rogers won't let his promotion get to his head."

"They're good lads, boss. They know when to draw the line. Besides, no one wants this case closed more than me."

Buxley nodded, and with a clap on Harry's back, exited the room. Finally, Harry turned to the two recruits who were staring at him, looking like lost, baby animals. He raised his eyebrows and asked, "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

They fumbled for a moment and then saluted. "Sir, yessir!"

He watched them rush out of the room and snorted. Looking down at the photograph, he sighed and hoped that things didn't escalate into something too big for him and his men to handle. Because if that happened—"Then Godric save us all."

* * *

 **2:29 PM**

He stumbled out of the fireplace and would've fallen to the floor face first if Draco hadn't caught him by the elbow. "I came as soon as I got your message," he gasped as he straightened up. "What did you find?"

"You need to calm down, first," Draco said, the laughter clear in his voice and his shimmering eyes. "It never gets tiring to see your clumsy nervousness."

"Ha ha," Harry replied sarcastically as he settled down on the sofa. He waited, impatient, watching as Draco came around to where he was seated with a white, neatly folded bundle in his hand. "What is it?" He reached for the mysterious object, but Draco pulled his arm away.

When Harry frowned, the blond only settled down beside him and said, "It didn't take me too long to look around since there wasn't very much to look at." He paused, eyeing Harry, as though there was something he wanted to say but he didn't know how to say it. Before Harry could react, Draco continued. "I poked around the rickety flooring and creaking walls, and found this—" he held out the white bundle and slowly peeled away the handkerchief he'd wrapped the object in to reveal an old pocket watch, "—stuffed into a crevice in the wall at the very back of the single-room house."

Harry gingerly took the watch from him and examined the dents on the side. It looked like someone had beaten it into its hiding place. He tried to force open the lid, but it fell apart in his hands. He looked up at Draco in alarm, and the blond shook his head.

"Don't worry. I broke it when I was trying to pry it open earlier. I didn't want to fix the dents because that would've been tampering with the evidence, but I wanted to see if there was anything inside, considering whoever had hidden it went to the extent of disfiguring it just to make sure no one else found it."

Harry turned the watch in his hands as he examined its scratched and peeling golden exterior. He spotted a small piece of something white sticking out from behind the cap of the cylinder of the broken hinges. Picking at it with his nail, he managed to pull out a thin, rolled up piece of parchment. He exchanged a glance with Draco before unfurling the roll.

"What is it?" Draco asked, leaning close to inspect it. "Numbers?"

The blond said something more, but Harry couldn't hear anything besides the ringing in his ears. It took him a few seconds, but he was sure he knew that particular combination of digits.

"Harry?" Draco's voice said, cutting through his daze, and he swallowed thickly.

"This…" he pointed at the numbers, "is Ginny's cell phone number."

Draco gawked at him, astonished, and stared at the piece of parchment. "Why… why is your wife's phone number rolled up and shoved into the top of a pocket watch that I found stuffed into a crack in the wall of an abandoned house?"

"Beats me," Harry murmured, feeling like his heart would leap out of his chest with how hard it was beating. He turned the watch over in his hands, looking for some sort of clue as to what in hell his wife was up to, and as though in answer to his desperation, he found small scratch marks at the base. They were very faint, but he could make out that they were initials. "DG," he whispered, the image of a blond boy with bright eyes flashing in his mind. "Daniel Grant."

Draco sighed resignedly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "And of course, once again, somehow the son seems to be involved with your wife."

"No, no," Harry said, tilting his head back and inhaling deeply. Straightening up, he looked at Draco. "This makes sense. If Ginny gave the boy her phone number, then it must be because she thought it necessary, which supports our theory that this boy may be in some sort of trouble. If we add the photograph of them behaving suspiciously and the ominous note to the equation, we can hazard a guess that this Grant fellow must be the one threatening his son's life in some way."

Draco's expression made it clear that he wasn't really buying into Harry's theory, but just then, Harry was on a roll and nothing could dissuade him. "It adds up, then, that you found this note stuffed into a watch that had been hastily hidden. Maybe Dan was trying to keep it from his father and ended up leaving it at the house." He paused, considering his own words as he said them. "I don't know how exactly Ginny found the boy or how she got involved with Grant, but maybe all she was trying to do was help a young child, which ended up getting her into unexpected trouble."

"In the end, this is all nothing but conjecture," Draco said seriously. Harry reared back, ready to retort, but the blond picked up the lid of the watch and held it out, as though to further emphasise his point in some way. "We don't actually know what your wife has been up to, nor do we know the true identities of Grant or his son—all of which is crucial information that is imperative for us to even begin to correctly analyse the situation."

"There's surely no harm in at least making a _guess_ as to what it could be," Harry argued, but Draco wasn't listening to him. His attention was focused on the inner side of the lid, and he was running his thumb back and forth against it, a frown on his face.

"I think this might be a false top," he finally said as he tried to pry off the inside of the lid. "There seems to be something stuck—aha!" The inside came off with a _click,_ and a round piece of paper fluttered out.

Harry picked it up and flipped it over to see that it was a cut-out photograph. It was a picture of a husband and wife, and their infant son. It looked at least half a decade old, but Harry could recognise that tuft of golden curls and those bright, blue eyes anywhere from the sheer number of times he'd replayed his encounter with the boy over and over in his head.

"A family portrait," Draco said as Harry held it out for him to see. The blond then turned to Harry, a triumphant smile on his face. "And now we know what our perpetrator looks like."

* * *

 **4:09 PM**

"Oh, good, you're here," Harry said as he entered the forensics lab.

Li looked up from behind a pile of… Merlin knew what, but it looked like a tower made from empty metal cans welded together, and jumped to his feet. "Good to see you down here, sir!" he greeted Harry as he took his goggles off and put down a welding gun.

Curious as to what the man's hobbies were but having more important things to discuss, Harry put a pin in it for later and held the Grant family portrait out. "I have something I need you to find out for me right away."

Li eyed the photograph and nodded. "You found the Grant family."

Harry blinked. "Wait… how do you know about…?" he trailed off, surprised.

"I promise I wasn't meaning to disobey your orders or anything," Li said quickly, waving his hands. "But it's just that I don't like leaving things unresolved, so I took it upon myself to track down Grant and find out his entire history."

Harry ran a hand down his face with a sigh. "Well, you could've just told me that and saved me a whole lot of trouble…"

"I meant to!" Li said hurriedly. "But I got side-tracked with the vandalism case Rogers brought me—I mean, it was marked _Top Priority_ and everything—and I missed my chance to tell you. It wasn't like I was hiding it from you, I swear!"

"Relax," Harry said, adjusting his spectacles. "I know you meant well. Now," he waved the photograph, "tell me everything you know."

"But of course!" Li hurried off to a pile of boxes at the far back and, after a little rummaging, returned with a blue folder in his hand. "This is what I—er— _borrowed_ from the Muggle Police Station." He handed the file to Harry, who looked at him with raised eyebrows before taking it. "It contains all the information our database doesn't have on Grant."

"I'll get back to how you got your hands on this later," Harry said as he opened the folder, "but first—why was Grant's information with the Muggles?"

"That's because after he fell off the grid, he turned Muggle." Li _accio_ -d a chair for Harry to sit on and motioned towards it. "It turns out he ended up marrying a Muggle girl named Meredith Hopkins and chose to live life as a Muggle."

Harry skimmed through the loose pages as he settled back in the chair, still unsure of why the Muggles had a case file on Grant. They seemed to be Li's notes, and he quickly scanned them to make sure he didn't miss anything of import. While he did so, Li kept talking.

"According to what little information we have about him in our database, he was caught and fined for petty crimes, but for nothing serious. His sudden disappearance bothered me, so I went to check to see if the Muggle police had him in their system. And true to my gut feeling, I found this file."

Li reached over and pulled out a file. Handing it to Harry, he said, "See this?" as he pointed to a particular missing person report.

Harry frowned, speed-reading until he reached the bottom, where it read: _victim_ _presumed dead._

"That doesn't add up," Harry mused, and Li hummed in assent.

"I agree. That's why I did a little more digging and found that the day Grant was reported to be missing was also the day his wife was found dead in their flat." Li pulled out a second case file and flipped it open. "The autopsy report states that it was suicide, but there was suspicion of foul play on Grant's part because of his immediate disappearance soon after.

"According to a follow-up report, Grant's wife apparently tried to kill both herself and her infant son by drinking poison that wouldn't be lethal to her, but would kill a baby. The autopsy report confirmed traces of poison in her breast milk, and since they didn't find the body of the child, the police were unsure whether or not he was still alive when Grant took him and fled the scene."

"I'm sure he's alive and well," Harry muttered, the image of a little male Goldilocks with blue eyes flashing through his mind again. He reached the end of the case file and shut it. Looking up at Li, he asked, "Is this it?"

"I thought it was, but since the investigation was inconclusive—Muggles make for shoddy investigators—I was hell-bent on finding out the truth." He rummaged through the folder and pulled out a grey file that Harry recognised as belonging to the public library's archives. "I didn't find too much," he said as he pulled out a few newspaper clippings and gave them to Harry. The short articles were eyewitness reports about the Grant family. "According to the neighbours, who had known the Grants for three years, from right after they got married and moved into the tenement building, Greggory Grant was apparently quite the adulterer. He'd even been caught red-handed by the neighbours, who had promptly informed his wife about the affair."

Harry skimmed through the article as Li spoke, listening to him with one ear. "Things seemed to get rocky between Mr and Mrs Grant, until one day Mrs Grant reportedly invited their neighbours over for dinner in order to inform them of the good news: that she was pregnant." The article stated as much, and it went on to say that the neighbours assumed it was an effort on Meredith Grant's part to force her husband out of his bad habits. "It worked—for a while," Li continued, "But Grant returned to his old ways, and his wife, sick of being treated like the other woman, probably decided to take control of her life by putting an end to it."

"This article says that Grant came home just in time to stop his wife from poisoning their son," Harry said. "So that means when he left soon after, his wife was still alive."

Li sighed. "Yeah." There was a long pause, after which Li muttered, "He's a sick man, sir. A sick, sick man." When Harry looked up at Li, he said quickly, "I mean, what sort of person leaves his wife to die like that? It makes my stomach churn just thinking about it."

"Well, whatever be the case, we need to find this fellow and lock him up before he hurts anybody else."

"I think I can help you with that," Li said as he scribbled something down on a piece of parchment and handed it over to Harry. "This is Grant's only known address. It took me quite a bit of hard-core tracking to find it, but I consider all my hard work to be worth it if you nab this guy and throw him behind bars."

Harry rose to his feet and clapped the man on the back. "You've been an unbelievable help this time around, Li. Thank you."

Li beamed. "Anything for you, sir!"

"Once all these cases are wrapped up, I'm going to take you out to lunch," Harry promised as they made their way to the door. "You can tell me all about your invention then."

"Yessir!"

* * *

 **6:53 PM**

He strode down the street, the rain splashing around his ankles. His breath coming out in clouds of hot hair, he eyed the desolate road, searching for one particular spot. Finding it, he came to stand under the shop's canopy, sighing as he took off his hat and shook it free of water droplets.

Someone came to stand beside him, and he glanced sideways to see a familiar blond clad in a light-grey trench coat and hat. Before he could speak, the other man said, "This feels like we're partaking in some shady deal."

He snorted. "Sounds about right."

There was a short pause, then: "Did you get it?"

"Yeah." He held out a piece of parchment, and the blond took it from him.

After a moment, the man said, "This is on the outskirts of the city."

"Who would've thought that he'd be right under our noses, huh?"

The blond folded the piece of paper and placed it in his pocket. Turning grey eyes to him, the man said, "Well, what're we waiting for?"

Harry grinned. "Shall we?" he asked as he held out his arm.

Draco mirrored his expression as he hooked his arm through Harry's elbow. "Let's."

They Disapparated, materialising at their destination a moment later. They glanced at each other, glad that the rain had masked their arrival, and Harry said, "You take the front door. I'll go 'round the back and catch him when he tries to escape."

Draco tipped his hat and said, "Roger that."

Harry chuckled, quelling the sudden urge to kiss the blond when Draco shot him that million-Galleon smile of his that always took Harry by surprise before walking away. _Focus, Harry,_ he scolded himself as he willed his racing heart to be calm. _There's a lot at stake here._

Going around, he climbed over the balcony and jumped down to the landing of the fire escape. Looking up, he eyed the three windows overhead, positioning himself in the centre so he wouldn't be taken by surprise. He then waited, picturing Draco knocking on the front door and saying something like, "I'm here for Greggory Grant. I have a few questions I'd like to ask you."

 _That would make him run for sure,_ Harry thought with a grin. Drawing his wand out, he concentrated, straining his hearing to catch the slightest of sounds, unwilling to lose to the roaring downpour. After what seemed like an inordinately long time, there was a clatter, and, just as Harry had expected, a man threw open the farthest window and clambered out of it.

He was looking over his shoulder, as though keeping an eye out for Draco, so he didn't notice Harry until he had jumped down and turned around. "Hullo. Good to see you," Harry said as he brandished his wand. Grant's eyes widened at the sight of it, and his momentary shock gave Harry enough time to wave his wand and say, _"Stupefy!"_

The spell hit Grant square in the chest and he fell back against the railing, clattering to the ground with his mouth hanging open. Harry came to stand before the man, taking in his haggard appearance; his hollow cheekbones were covered with an unkempt beard, and his receding hairline made him look older than Harry thought he was. His tattered clothes and shoeless feet gave him the appearance of a homeless person.

There was a gasp from above, and Harry looked up to see a child dangling from the window. "Dad!" the blond boy shouted, loosing his grip on the slippery frame, and with a yell, he fell. Harry reached up and caught him, setting him down when he began to struggle.

The moment his feet were on the ground, the boy, whom Harry recognised from their brief encounter not so long ago, scrambled backwards and stood by his father.

"Hello, Dan Grant," Harry said as he moved to transfigure a broken bar of the railing into rope. He squatted down, pulled Grant's wrists together, and bound them. Looking up at the boy, who was ogling at him, he asked, "Do you remember me?"

"You—You're a wizard!"

"Yes, I am," Harry said as he stood. "I'm Harry Potter. We met a few weeks ago in Litchborough*. Do you remember?"

The boy opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, giving Harry the impression of a fish out of water. After a time, recognition flashed in his crystal-clear eyes and he said, "You're the kind man that gave me money!"

"That's me." Kneeling down before the child, he asked, "Now, Dan, can you tell me how you know Ginny?"

Panic flashed across Dan's face and he glanced towards his unconscious father before turning back to Harry and asking, "How do _you_ know Ginny?"

With a grim smile, Harry said, "She's my wife."

* * *

 **A/n: *Litchborough is a town in Northamptonshire in the United Kingdom. I just needed a name to use, so from now on Antares is going to be located there. Sorry if there are any logistical issues.**

 **Guess who kept their promise of updating on time! Wohoo! I feel accomplished lol.**

 **Anyway, the big confrontation between Harry and Ginny isn't too far off, now! Are y'all excited? Because I'm excited!**

 **I don't want to break their family up, but what can you do? Drarry takes priority above all.**

 **Any who, review and let me know what you guys think about Greggory Grant's backstory! Pretty dark, huh?**

 **I think I'm starting to get very attached to ickle Dannykins. He is just too adorable. No wonder Ginny wanted to help the kid.**

 **Well, see you next chapter! And don't forget to review!**

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **Lots of love,**

 **Arty xx**


	33. 33 Lies: Confrontation

**A/n: Just an update: I don't quite remember if I mentioned this on here, but I took an oath to write as many Drarrys as possible for a competition I am a part of so as to bridge the very tiny gap between us and Dramione. That being said, I'll be posting a Drarry one-shot some time this weekend, and I decided to mention it on here because its premise is the museum headcanon that your probably remember from earlier on in this story. If y'all are interested in reading it, follow me so you're notified when I post it!**

 **Now onto the actual chapter.**

* * *

 **Chapter 33**

 **Confrontation**

* * *

 **[November 29 2011]**

 **9:10 PM**

It had taken Harry and Draco quite some time to get both Grant and his son back to Antares without being conspicuous. Dan had put up quite a fight, and Harry had been left with no choice but to knock him out with a gentle _Stupefy_ so they could carry him back. One person Apparating with an unconscious man and boy was difficult enough, but having to coordinate their Apparition between him and Draco was truly a feat in itself, let alone making it to Antares with all four males in one piece.

Once they were in Draco's office, they had to make sure Grant was securely bound, so that even if he were to regain consciousness, they would be able to knock him out without him putting too much of a fight. Draco had then made an unconscious Dan swallow a few drops of Calming Draught so that when he woke up he wouldn't scream or thrash around. It worked for them, especially since neither man was particularly fond of the idea of tying up an eight-year-old.

They had kept the two there until nine o' clock, a half hour past Harry's kids' bedtime, so he could confront Ginny in peace. Draco had offered to remain in his office to keep an eye on Grant for Harry, and Harry, eternally grateful for all that the blond had done for him, promised to be back in an hour or two. With Dan in his arms, Harry had then Floo-d home, laid the boy down on the sofa in his study, and had summoned his wife—who had just finished taking a bath and was drying her hair—to his study.

Before he had left Antares, Draco had asked him if he was going to be all right. Harry had had nearly two hours to think of all the possible worst-case scenarios, and now that he was finally home, a sense of detachment filled him. It was like he was walking through a daze and had no idea of his whereabouts.

He sat perched on the edge of the sofa's armrest, watching as his wife entered the room and shut the door softly behind her. The moment Ginny looked up and her eyes fell upon a seemingly peacefully sleeping Dan, she paled, her mouth falling open in shock.

"This is Dan Grant," Harry said in a tone of voice so normal that it surprised him. "I heard you two have met?"

Ginny stepped forward but then retracted her foot, as though she was afraid to come any closer. "Wh—How—I don't—"

Harry grit his teeth as he pulled out the folded photograph from his pocket and held it out as a means of explanation. He could see her hesitation as she eyed the photograph like she expected it to attack her. Impatient, he waved it, and she stepped forward to take it from him. He watched as she opened it and her eyes bugged out of her head, her cheeks turning a furious red.

"Oh, good lord," she said breathlessly, reaching out with her free arm as though she needed something to support her. Harry summoned his chair from behind his desk before he could stop himself, forgiving his moment of kindness when she fell back on it with a little sob. He would get all the satisfaction he wanted in a few minutes without needing to be cruel about it.

Being the ever-patient husband that he was, he waited for Ginny to pull herself together. She finally did, when she flipped the picture around and squinted down at the smudged list on the back. "How did you—" she began, but Harry cut her off.

"I'm giving you one chance to tell me the truth, Ginny. I'll sit here all night if necessary." When she slowly looked up, her eyes looking suspiciously moist, he nodded at the photograph clutched tight in her hands. "That arrived at Ron and Hermione's two days ago. She came to me, thoroughly alarmed, and asked me if I knew anything at all about it." He laughed, a short, harsh sound, and Ginny winced. "Funny story, that, don't you think? That Hermione thought my wife had no secrets from me."

"Harry, please," Ginny begged, her voice quavering. "Don't do that."

"Don't do _what?"_ Harry stood and began to pace, the blood rushing to his head and his anger making it difficult for him to breathe. "I don't know what the hell you've been up to, Ginny, but to not only drag Hermione and her family into this, but ours too? Are you completely out of your goddamn mind?"

Ginny flinched when he shouted at the end, immediately looking over her shoulder at the door. Harry didn't even hesitate as he waved his wand to lock it and place a _Muffliato_ around them. He glanced down at Dan, who was perfectly still, making Harry wonder if he was only pretending to be unconscious.

Turning back to his wife, he inhaled deeply, trying to swallow past the lump in his throat and failing. He needed to stay calm, just then. Calm and stonehearted. Nothing good would come from his resolve crumbling after witnessing the tears pooling in her wide, brown eyes.

Ginny shook her head, and he felt his heart break ever so slowly. Exhaling through parted lips, he walked up to her and cupped her cheek with one hand, feeling a detached sense of disgust mixed with guilt and sorrow when she leaned into his touch with a sob. All of his anger seeped out of him and was replaced by exhaustion.

"Ginny, please," he said, his voice cracking. "I need to know. Did you—are you having an affair?"

"No!" she yelled, slapping his hand away. He bristled at the anger in her eyes.

 _Really? You think you have the right to be angry?_ his mind said, and he agreed.

"Then what is it, Ginny?" he snapped, throwing his arms in the air and walking away. "I refuse to keep up this guessing game any longer, so you bloody well come clean right now!"

"How could you even think—" she began and then stopped.

 _Wise decision,_ he thought. _I don't know what would've happened if she'd finished that sentence._

She simmered down and wiped away her tears with her sleeve. Clearing her throat, she said softly, "I know this is a ludicrous demand—" he scoffed, "—but please try not to get angry."

"Too late," he hissed, and she nodded.

"Fair enough." She adjusted her nightgown, eyes fixed on the worn carpet. "I suppose I best start from the very beginning, then."

"Looks like you can make smart choices after all."

Ginny glanced up for a moment at that, but returned her gaze to the floor. "Do you remember that time before our engagement when we decided to take a little time off for ourselves?" She paused, but didn't seem to want a reply. He chose not to give one, and only settled back on the armrest as she continued. "I was still with the Harpies and we were at the peak of our game, and you were training to be the Head Auror. We were both so busy that we barely got to see each other. I was—" her voice broke, "—I was so lonely, Harry." She looked up, the tears spilling down her cheeks. "And I knew you were too, but both of us were dealing with so much that we knew if we didn't take a break then _we_ would break."

He remembered that time, over a decade ago, when they were both so messed up. Everyone was trying so hard to get over the war that they were focusing all of their energy on something else. For most, it was their loved ones, but for Harry and Ginny, it was their careers.

That was probably one of their greatest mistakes. They each took the other for granted; believed that the other would always be there no matter what.

After all, besides one another, whom else did they have?

"I thought you would fight for us," she whispered, her voice trembling so much that her words were nearly indistinguishable from one another. "When I suggested that we take a break to focus on our work, I thought you would at least try to convince me otherwise." Neither her tone nor her words were accusatory in the slightest; she was simply stating what she had thought; yet her words pierced him like slender blades, each finding their mark in his tender heart. "You just let me go so easily."

Ginny was crying by then, her hands pressed to her lips in an unsuccessful attempt to muffle her voice, and it killed him to see her like that. He yearned to pull her into his arms and kiss her hair and tell her everything was going to be all right like he had after the war, but he couldn't. It was as though there was some dark force holding him back and keeping him frozen in place.

When she had calmed down, she sniffled before settling back in her seat and staring at the floor once again. "I left for the tournament with our relationship hanging in the air. We spoke a few times, but never about anything significant, and the longer I was away from home, the further apart we became." She sighed, shaking her head as though she regretted ever suggesting they split up for a little while in the first place. "Finally, it was our last game, and we won against a team we hadn't defeated in a very long time. I was overjoyed and swept away by all the excitement. The entire team, including the coaches and stuff, went clubbing that night and we all got pissed out of our minds."

Harry remembered her telling him that story, but he knew what came after he had no idea about. Ginny sighed again and eyed the photograph. "Greg was the bartender there that night. He bore with our raucous madness and even hailed minicabs for those of us who wanted to leave. A few of us remained—I only did because Angie did—and, well, I can't say I remember too much of what happened after I fell asleep at the bar."

She looked up to eye Dan, who was still unmoving—even his breathing was shallow—a pained smile on her face. She then turned to meet Harry's eyes for the first time since she started speaking. "When I woke up, I was in Greg's bed—he was renting the tiny flat on top of the place he worked at back then—and he had left for his day job. I still had all my clothes on, and there was a note tacked to the front door that said I had passed out after insisting that I'll follow after my friends and was too inebriated to tell him where I was staying, so he let me sleep in his flat."

Harry would have asked if she and "Greg"—just hearing her call him that made him grind his teeth—had slept together that night, but something about the way she was staring right at him dissuaded him from asking. It was almost like she was challenging him to bring it up; like she knew he was dying to know if she had betrayed him and was daring him to question her loyalty to him.

In the end, Ginny won.

"Did you?" he asked, knowing he didn't have to explain what he meant, and Ginny looked away from him to fix her gaze on Dan.

"I thought I did for the longest time," she replied, her voice having taken on a resigned tone. She then lapsed into silence, and his impatience returned.

"That still doesn't explain any of this," Harry said, motioning to the photograph and the boy lying beside him.

Ginny re-fixed her gaze on the floor. "A year ago, when I was covering the autumn tournament, I happened to meet him again. Except this time, he looked nothing like the handsome young bartender I remembered him to be." Her gaze shifted to Dan yet again, unaware of how Harry bristled at the mention of the _handsome young bartender_. "While I was sitting in a park after an interview, that child tried to steal my bag. I could have caught him, but, instead, I ended up following him to see where he would go. I knew a boy as young as him had to either be with a group of children or one or more adults. As it turned out, he returned to his father."

Another pause, and Harry shifted in his seat, the anticipation making him sick. _Just spit it out already,_ he wanted to say, but he kept mum. He wasn't sure what was going to cause Ginny to clam up, and now that she was on a roll, he wasn't about to disrupt the flow of information. He would wait until _after_ she was done to open his mouth.

"I confronted Greg," Ginny began again, her eyes still lowered, as though the ground was feeding her the words she was speaking. "He recognised me instantly, even if I didn't him. He tried to get me to remember him, and even though I had a vague recollection of who he was, I pretended like I had never seen him before in my life." She shrugged a shoulder lethargically, as though she had no life left in her. "And then he asked me how I could forget the man I had crazy, drunken sex with."

Her voice broke by the end of her seemingly never-ending monologue, and she sniffed. When she looked back up at Harry, her eyes were red and full of tears. "He led me to believe I had cheated on you for so long," she said brokenly. "He threatened to tell people—people I knew and loved—about it. When I told him no one would believe him, he threatened to send pictures to the Daily Prophet. I didn't know if he was lying, and even if he was telling the truth, if he would follow through with it, but he had nothing; no food, no money, and him and Dan had apparently been chased out of the only place that let them live there."

Ginny sobbed into her hand for a minute before wiping her nose and looking up at him. Harry wanted to look anywhere but at her; there were so many emotions broiling just beneath the surface, but just then, he was feeling nothing but disgust at the sight of her tear-stained face. He felt like if he moved even a finger, he would be sick.

"I knew how far people could go when they were desperate." She shuddered, her eyes becoming glassy and her lips parting, as though she had seen a ghost from her past. She swallowed thickly. "I knew I could walk away from him, but…" she trailed off as she watched Dan, who, Harry noted belatedly, had now buried his head in his arms, his back rising and falling as he breathed deeply.

"He reminded me so much of Jamie," Ginny whispered, and Harry felt his blood run cold.

 _I knew it,_ he thought. The moment he had seen the boy, something about him had reminded Harry of James as well, and he had a feeling that the reason for Ginny to do whatever she had must have been the same.

"He was so frail and weak, Harry," she said, her voice trembling. "The poor thing hadn't eaten in days, and his bastard of a father was making him steal to feed himself. There was no way I could walk away from a little, hungry boy." She took her face in her hands, her body wracked with sobs, and Harry felt tears prickle in his own eyes.

He loved her, he resented her, he felt betrayed by her, and yet he wanted to take her in his arms and never let her go. Ginny, first and foremost, was a dutiful human being before anything else—much like Harry was—and that was why their relationship had lasted all these years despite their differences.

Finally unable to take it anymore, he walked to her, got down on his knees before her, and pulled her into his embrace. She struggled for a moment, shaking her head, as though she thought she didn't deserve his comfort, but he couldn't leave her to her pain. She had always been there through his suffering; there was no way he would abandon her in hers.

"I told him that if he wasn't going to be a better father then I would get him thrown behind bars for child abuse," she said in a muffled voice against his shoulder. He wanted to tell her to stop; tell her that it was enough already, but the lump in his throat wouldn't let him. "In return, he threatened me again that he would send pictures of him and me to the Prophet if I didn't leave them alone."

She sniffed loudly. "I left, but couldn't stop thinking about Dan, so one day, I waited near the park till I saw him and spoke to him. I gave him my cell phone number in case of emergencies, and in case he really needed some place to go, I gave him Ron's home address and the shop's address—since they were closer and easier to reach—and told him to go there and ask for help. Greg must've forced the information out of Dan somehow."

Ginny pulled away from Harry and brushed her hair out of her eyes. She smiled sadly as she reached over to wipe a tear from his cheek—he hadn't even realised he had been crying—and stroked his hair. "I met Dan as often as I could and gave him money for food and clothes. Greg started to notice soon enough, and coerced Dan into continuing to take money from me. I realised something was amiss and decided that I needed to take action—even if not directly."

She exhaled through chapped lips, her eyes hooded and tired. "I got some of my reporter friends to snoop around for me and finally found a relative: Dan's uncle. He was Dan's mother's younger brother and had eloped with his sister's best friend soon after her marriage to Greg. I wrote to him, telling him the situation briefly and asking him to meet up with me.

"That's where I was last weekend, after I left the tournament." She paused, a thoughtful expression on her face. "And when I was late for our family trip, I had gone to see Dan. His birthday was a day after Angie's, and when he told me about how he'd never celebrated a single birthday his whole life, I wanted to surprise him." She finally shrugged and sat back in her seat. "And that's it."

So many thoughts were swirling through Harry's mind, but just then, he had only one thing to ask: "Why didn't you tell me?"

Ginny closed her eyes and sighed. "I suppose, deep down, I was still afraid that Greg was telling the truth and that he would make good on his threat if I involved anymore people."

"But did you…?" he regretted asking the question even as he did, and he could see the coldness in her eyes, but he had to know.

"No, Harry, I did not sleep with another man. Are you satisfied now?"

He let his head fall with a sigh, and he expected to feel relief, although he felt anything but. As though realising the same, Ginny said in a low voice, "Is that what you were thinking I was doing this whole time?"

Swallowing thickly, he was too afraid to meet her gaze, so he hung his head in shame. Her cold fingers tucked under his chin and forced him to look up at her. Her head was tilted, her eyes were wide and glassy, and there was something odd about her expression. It wasn't accusing or angry, it was just… empty. As though something within her had broken.

"You never really completely trusted me, did you?"

The question caught him off-guard, and he didn't have an answer for it. He opened his mouth and made to say something, anything, to deny it, but he couldn't. In the back of his mind, a voice said, _But you never really did, did you?_

 _Why?_ he wondered. Had he expected her to betray him some day, on a subconscious level?

 _Because you've always been alone,_ the voice replied. _Besides, what sort of person trusts another completely? It isn't in human nature to do so._

The darkness that had paralysed him before was returning, clouding the edges of his senses in a black vignette.

"At least tell me this," Ginny was saying. Her eyes were filled with tears, yet she remained stoic, almost as though she had blocked herself from feeling anything. "Did you ever love me?"

"Of course I did," he croaked, clutching her arms like they were his lifelines. "I still do love you, Ginny. Why would you even ask that?"

"But are you _in_ love with me, Harry?"

The darkness was laughing hysterically in the back of his mind.

She smiled wryly but it didn't reach her eyes. Leaning forwards, Ginny cupped his cheeks with her hands, her touch cold against his burning skin. She pressed her lips to his forehead and pulled away before whispering, "At least we both have this one thing in common, if nothing else."

When she tried to move out of the chair, he grabbed her wrist. Ginny looked down at him, on his knees, and for a moment, their situation could have been mistaken for a proposal. But in that moment, there was anything but feelings of love between them.

He let her go, knowing that she would lock herself in their bedroom and cry herself to sleep, and every part of him was telling him to stop her. She even paused at the door, as though waiting for him to call out to her, but he remained frozen in place, unable to think or speak.

Ginny opened the door and left the room, shutting it behind her softly, her words from before echoing through his mind.

 _"_ _You let me go so easily."_

Turning on his heels slowly, still in shock, he looked up to meet brilliant blue eyes and felt his stomach churn.

"I lied to her," Dan said in a voice Harry didn't recognise as belonging to the boy. It sounded hollow and lifeless. "I was the one that told her my father was lying and nothing happened between them."

He leaned back and cocked his head, his halo of golden curls giving him the appearance of an angel, but there was nothing angelic about the darkness in his eyes. "She saved me. I wasn't going to let my drunken fool of a father take her away from me. So, in exchange for telling him your friends' address, I made him confess the truth about what had actually happened that night." His lips pressed together in a thin smile. "It turns out that in her drunkenness, Ginny thought you were the one she was with. She kept apologising over and over, telling him how much she loved you and how she would never let you go ever again."

Dan pushed himself off and came to stand before Harry. Although he was just a bit taller than Harry, who was still on his knees, there was something menacing about the child. _What has this boy had to see and experience to have such cold eyes?_ Harry found himself thinking as he looked up at the blond. _An eight-year-old doesn't talk like this._

"I love Ginny," Dan said. "I won't let anyone take her away from me. Not my father, not my uncle, not anybody. Not even you, Harry Potter."

Without waiting for Harry to respond, Dan made his way out the door and towards the bedroom. He knocked on the door and called for Ginny, his voice that of a child again, making Harry wonder if he had hallucinated about what had just happened. After a few moments, she allowed him into the room. Harry watched, feeling disconnected from everything, as though none of what he was seeing or experiencing was real.

 _What just happened?_

He rose to his feet mechanically, his mind a muddle of thoughts save for one. Grabbing a fistful of Floo powder, he threw it into the fireplace and stepped in, the image of Draco's face filling the emptiness within him.

* * *

 **10:13 PM**

As soon as Harry stepped out of the Floo, Draco began speaking to him.

"Oh, good, you're here. I moved Grant to the empty room next to this one because I didn't want to risk any one walking in here and seeing a tied-up criminal in the corner. I also soundproofed it so nobody would hear if he shouted or screamed. He was still unconscious the last time I checked, though, so we're good." A pause. "Harry?"

Harry looked up, feeling hot and like his head would split open. His vision was slightly blurry and he was sweating. Draco walked towards him, and the moment the darkness in the corners of his vision cleared, Harry reached for Draco and pulled him towards him. Crushing his lips against the blond's, his mind empty, he watched through half-closed eyes as Draco faltered in his surprise.

"Harry?" the blond exclaimed, pushing Harry away. "What's wrong?"

 _Everything,_ Harry wanted to say, but the words wouldn't leave his mouth. Instead, he tried to kiss Draco again, only to have the blond grab him by the shoulders and hold him at arm's length. Draco searched Harry's face, and after a moment, leaned in to press his forehead against Harry's.

"You're feverish," he said after a moment, pulling away. Harry missed the coolness of Draco's skin against his.

"That makes sense," he mumbled, belatedly wondering how much of what had transpired he had perceived as it had actually happened.

"Was it because you got drenched in the rain?" Draco asked as he led Harry to the sofa. "I told you not to take off your coat and hat."

"I was feeling guilty enough for knocking the boy out," Harry said, his words slightly slurred. "I didn't want him to catch his death of cold, too."

"Your kindness is sometimes unnecessary," Draco said as he transfigured a cushion into a quilt. Harry almost didn't hear him because of how softly he said it. "Here." He covered Harry in it snugly and began to move away, but Harry reached up to catch his wrist.

"Don't go," he rasped.

"I'm not leaving, Harry, I'm just going to make you some hot tea."

"I won't let you go this time."

 _I'm delusional,_ he thought to himself, and it almost made him laugh. He held it in, though, because Draco was staring at him with such a gentle expression that it made him want to curl up in a ball and cry.

"I'm the wrong person to be saying that to," Draco said gently as he settled down beside Harry. He then reached up to brush Harry's hair out of his eyes. "Your wife would be much happier hearing that."

"It's too late, now," Harry mumbled, staring at his hand that was still clasped around Draco's wrist. "She's not in love with me anymore."

"Bollocks," Draco muttered, and Harry couldn't help but smile at hearing the blond swear. "You're delusional, Potter."

"That I am," Harry agreed. "But she's right. Neither of us are in love with each other anymore. We do love one another, but not the way we used to when were younger."

Some deep-seated emotion Harry couldn't recognise flitted across Draco's eyes and his face tensed, as though Harry's words had struck a nerve on a personal level. "That's natural," Draco said, and Harry could have sworn he heard the blond's voice tremble in the slightest. "Sometimes, you fall out of love, even if you continue to love the person dearly."

Harry looked deep into Draco's eyes, noticing the flecks of blue in the silver for the very first time. He found himself thinking they were so mesmerising and that he wanted to drown in them.

"And sometimes," Draco's voice said through the haze that had settled over Harry. He could feel the blond's breath on his skin, and he revelled in its warmth. "Sometimes, you fall in love with someone else."

Harry groaned as hot lips pressed against his own, feeling his skin break out in gooseflesh. A sigh escaped his parted lips as Draco pulled back for a moment to reach behind Harry, and he felt his head hit something cool and soft. Nuzzling the silken material, realising that he was now lying down, he hummed and closed his eyes, feeling his consciousness slip away.

He registered his glasses being taken off, and warm lips press against his forehead much like Ginny's had. Except, when he cracked his eyes open, it was to the sight of Draco's gentle smile as he whispered, "Sleep tight."

The corners of Harry's lips tugged upwards as he nestled under the quilt, his fingers tightening around something warm and soft.

 _Ah,_ his exhausted brain said. _He's not letting me go._

* * *

 **A/n: Yes, the confrontation did take up most of this chapter, but I didn't want to leave out any of the important stuff. And there you have it! The truth behind what Ginny's been up to! I'd pretty much been hinting to it for a while, but yeah. Just to say- I've read a lot of Drarrys where Ginny has cheated on Harry leading to Drarry, but I dislike that idea because it doesn't stay true to her character at all. She's a loyal Gryffindor, after all, which is why I had to come up with a backstory that convinced me enough. I hope it convinced you too.**

 **What did you guys think about what Draco said about it being natural that people eventually fall out of love? I believe it's true. I mean, at some point, are you even able to distinguish between being _in_ love and loving the other dearly? Or would you be able to distinguish the exact moment that you were no longer _in_ love with someone but loved them dearly? Food for thought. (And no, I am still not over the whole Demi Lovato/Wilmer Valderrama split, thanks for asking *sniffs noisily*)**

 **Also, what did you guys think about Dan's challenge to Harry?**

 **P.S. I hope you guys caught Draco's sneaky confession.**

 **P.P.S. Thank you for reading, following and favouriting this story! Don't forget to review and let me know what you thought!**

 **P.P.P.S. If there's things about Ginny's story that you would like to ask me, feel free to do so in a review, I shall get back to you immediately because I know I only included the most important stuff as it would've gotten too long otherwise.**

 **Lots of love,**

 **Arty xx**


	34. 34 Lies: No Respite

**A/n: This turned out to be longer than I expected and is probably the longest chapter so far, but I suppose it's the least I could give you guys for being so patient. More confict everywhere! Yay! Lol now onto the chapter~**

* * *

 **Chapter 34**

 **No Respite**

* * *

 **[November 30 2011]**

 _He was standing in the middle of a graveyard—one that was oddly familiar, as though he had been there before. Looking about, he saw nothing but darkness and mist. He wanted to walk around, but he was afraid he would stub his toe on a headstone or stumble and fall._

 _Wondering why he was there, he tried to make sense of the situation he was in. He was rather calm—perhaps it had to do with the fact that he knew it was a nightmare—even though he didn't quite know what to expect. Feeling a chill creep up his spine, he looked over his shoulder, mildly surprised by the towering statue of the Angel of Death that had materialised behind him._

 _He turned towards it, eyeing the three names carved into the tall headstone beside the statue, feeling a belated sense of sadness at the familiar sight. It was the Riddles' grave, the place where Cedric Diggory had been murdered and Voldemort had been resurrected. The information neither alarmed nor placated him in his state of detachment. He was drawn to the statue, instead, a deep yearning filling him. Reaching up, he ran his fingers along the scythe, not feeling anything—physically or emotionally._

 _"'_ _All are of the dust and to dust shall all return'," he said, his voice a ghostly whisper._

 _Someone approached him from behind, their shadow growing as they drew closer, throwing the statue into darkness, and he was left to wonder when the moon had appeared in the sky. He remained as he was, with one hand against the stone scythe, glancing sideways only when whoever it was came to stand beside him._

 _For a moment, neither spoke. Then: "'And shall the dust return to earth as it was…"_

 _The voice trailed off, and Harry turned his gaze to the Angel of Death's skeletal face. "What of the spirit?" he questioned._

 _"_ _That depends on the spirit itself."_

 _He eyed the man beside him, who was pulling back his hood to reveal a pale face and high cheekbones. Silver eyes turned to focus on Harry as a light breeze rustled around their ankles._

 _"_ _Why do you say that?" Harry asked._

 _A shrug. "Only the loyal return to His side."_

 _"_ _I thought God was all-forgiving?"_

 _"_ _God?" the man scoffed. "I speak of Death." He raised his eyes to the statue's face with a revered expression. "None shall conquer Him." He glanced sideways at Harry once again. "Now, shall we go?"_

 _"_ _Go where?"_

 _"_ _To the place where you belong."_

 _"_ _Heaven?"_

 _"_ _No."_

 _"…_ _Hell?"_

 _A slender arm reached up to curl thin fingers around his wrist. "There is only one place for someone like you, who cannot choose sides." Silver eyes glittered with mirth. "Purgatory."*_

 _Harry opened his mouth, making to refute the man, but there was a sudden burst of energy, and he felt like someone had punched him in the gut, hard. He doubled over, arm still raised from where the blond was holding it, a distorted scream escaping his lips as he felt his body cave in on itself. His wrist was yanked up, and he was forced to raise his head. Eyeing the statue through his tears, he saw that its skeletal form was disintegrating, only to be replaced, one by one, by bloody bones—his bones._

 _A strained gasp left his mouth as he collapsed to the ground, but instead of the intolerable pain that he should have felt, he felt complete emptiness._

 _He had, really and truly, become a hollow shell._

* * *

 **1:17 AM**

Harry jerked awake with a shudder. Breathing heavily and covered in sweat, he looked around wide-eyed, unable to gain his bearings. Someone grabbed him by the shoulder, and he slapped the hand away, scrambling back and holding his arms out to defend himself.

"Harry, calm down," Draco's soothing voice said through the ringing in his ears. "You were having a nightmare."

"Where—what—I don't—why am—" he spluttered, still half asleep and confused.

Draco pressed his hand to Harry's forehead and pushed him back gently. "Breathe," he said as he eased Harry back under the quilt. He picked his wand off the table and Summoned a glass tumbler. " _Aguamenti."_ Then, reaching into his robes, he pulled out a small phial and tipped it into the water. Handing the glass to Harry, he said, "Drink."

Harry gulped down the cool liquid, holding the tumbler out with a sigh once he was done. He felt a calm spread from within him and exhaled through his mouth, his shoulders slumping now that the adrenaline rush had worn off.

"Are you alright?" Draco asked, settling down beside him.

Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak. As the Calming Draught's effects hit home, his mind got clearer, and he was able to recollect the previous evening's events with startling clarity. Groaning, he rubbed his hands up and down his face, feeling hot, sweaty and exhausted.

Draco's cool fingers pressed against his neck and the blond hummed. "Your fever seems to have gone down. I'm glad."

"Can't believe I passed out here again," Harry muttered, embarrassed, to which Draco only chuckled.

"Don't let it worry you. Camilla has spent one too many nights on this sofa before."

That made Harry briefly wonder what Draco's relationship with Camilla really was, but he didn't dwell too much on it. The blond rose to his feet and held his hand out. "It must've been uncomfortable to sleep in such a narrow space. Let me Transfigure the sofa into a bed."

"No, no," Harry said, waving his hands. "I've already troubled you enough as it is."

Draco's expression softened. "It isn't any trouble at all, I promise you."

Harry swallowed, the memory of the blond's words from the previous night echoing through his mind. _Should I ask?_ he wondered. His brain told him not to do it, but he ignored it.

Draco tilted his head in question and waved his hand. "Harry?"

Heart in his mouth, Harry cleared his throat and said, "Did you mean it?" when Draco looked at him with a confused expression, Harry added, "What you said last night?"

For a moment, Draco went rigid. Then Harry blinked, and the blond had returned to his former self, although he looked a little paler. "I can't say I'm quite sure what you're referring to," the blond said as he grabbed Harry by the wrist and pulled him up. "Stand there. Let me concentrate for a moment."

 _He's lying,_ Harry thought as he watched Draco Transfigure the sofa into a bed. _Why is he lying?_

"Draco."

"One moment, please."

"Draco, I need to know."

He grabbed the blond by the shoulder and spun him around. Draco's eyes flashed, and his jaw set. He struggled in Harry's hold for a moment before giving up. "Like I said—"

"You said you were in love with me."

Draco's jaw dropped, as though he hadn't actually expected Harry to speak the words out loud, but he recovered quickly, clearing his throat and turning away.

"Don't say you don't know what I'm talking about," Harry said in a soft, pleading voice.

Draco sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "It's late. You're still sick. You should sleep."

"I just need you to tell me," Harry begged. "I won't bring it up again, I promise, so just this one time."

"And then what?" Harry started at the sharpness of Draco's voice, and the blond used that moment to shake Harry's hand off. "Even if I admit to having said anything at all and not blaming your delusional self, then what?"

Harry shook his head. "I just—"

"Just _what,_ Harry?" Draco's voice was strained. The corners of his eyes were crinkled—not in the way it did when he smiled—and he looked like he was in physical pain. "Right now, you just need the satisfaction of knowing that even though your wife isn't still madly in love with you, someone else is."

Harry pressed his lips together, affronted. "That's not true, and you know it," he said even as he realised that Draco had just admitted to being madly in love with him.

Draco threw his arms up in the air—the first true act of frustration he had seen from the man—and walked away from Harry. "No, I don't, Potter. I really don't."

"Oh, so I'm _Potter_ now, am I?" Harry bit back, causing Draco to turn around and fix him with a cold glare.

"You were _always_ Potter. For thirty years you were Potter. Why did that have to change now?"

Harry walked up to Draco and stood a distance away, his arms held up in a non-threatening way as he said gently, "It sounds like I'm not the one who's in denial."

Draco's cheeks flushed and he turned away. The whole situation reminded Harry of his teenage years of trying to woo a girl and it made him smile. _Draco's far better than any girl, though,_ his tired mind supplied rather un-helpfully.

He came to stand behind the blond and slowly turned Draco to face him. The other man refused to look at him, and Harry found his embarrassment endearing. "Draco," he said in a soft voice. "Draco, look at me."

"No."

Harry's smile widened. "If you don't, I'll kiss you."

Draco turned to stare at Harry wide-eyed, but the latter only grinned before capturing the blond's lips. For a second or two it was fine, then Draco froze, and a moment later, he shoved Harry away. Pressing a hand to his mouth, he shook his head. "What the hell are you doing?"

Harry frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You—you just—do you always live on spinal impulses alone?"

His face growing hot at the insult, Harry said, "Isn't it a bit too late to be complaining?"

Draco closed his eyes and inhaled, as though needing to force himself to calm down and be rational. When he opened his eyes, his expression was serene and calm; it sent shivers down Harry's spine. Harry was looking at Mind Healer Draco, not his friend Draco, and definitely not the Draco he had just kissed or the one who had professed his love for Harry the previous night.

"I admit," the blond began, "that the mistake was mine. I was out of line, and I apologise."

A surge of anger swept through Harry, and before he could stop himself, he spat, "You _apologise?"_ He grabbed Draco by the shoulders and shook him. "Don't mess with me, Malfoy."

"That is the last thing I intend to do," Draco replied calmly. He plucked Harry's hands off his shoulders and let them fall by his side. Then, with a smile, he motioned to the bed. "It's well past midnight, and you're tired. I suggest we continue this conversation in the morning when you're in better health."

Harry hissed, his face flushed and his heart thundering in his chest. His mind was a muddle of thoughts, and he didn't want to think of anything besides the man standing in front of him, pretending like they were just formal acquaintances.

"I refuse," he said as he placed his hands on either side of the blond's face and crushed his lips against Draco's. He felt a sense of déjà vu and realised he must have done something similar the previous evening.

There was a muffled gasp from Draco as he struggled to break away. Harry strained against the hand pushing his shoulder, feeling his chest tighten. Finally, when he pulled back and opened his eyes, he was shocked to see the expression on Draco's face.

The blond looked like he was close to tears, and Harry instantly felt a surge of guilt. _What the hell am I doing?_

"I'm so sorry," he said, reaching out to touch Draco, but the blond flinched away.

"Don't," he replied in a low voice, one hand held out in front of him and the other covering his mouth as he turned away. "Just—please go to sleep."

Harry swallowed thickly and half-turned, making towards the bed, but he paused, his entire being insistent on getting an answer from Draco. "You're right," he said. When Draco glanced at him, he cleared his throat and continued. "I did just want to hear you say it so I could convince myself that my marriage isn't empty and meaningless." He shrugged a shoulder. "Pretty pathetic, huh?"

Draco covered his eyes and sighed long and slow. When he looked up at Harry, the exhaustion was clear on his face, and Harry felt nothing but guilt for pushing the man so far. _But I need to know…_

"You know," Draco said, "you are a terrible person."

Harry half-smiled. "I know."

The blond nodded and walked up to Harry. He reached up to press one hand to Harry's forehead and the other to his own. "Your fever hasn't completely subsided. You shouldn't excite yourself too much."

Harry scoffed. "Bit too late for that, innit?"

Draco simply stared into Harry's eyes, as though he was searching for some sort of answer in them. After a long moment, he said, "No matter how I feel about you, we are still married men with loving wives and children. I don't think either of us is the kind who would be willing to shatter the hearts of our loved ones for…" he motioned between them, "…whatever this is."

 _What_ is _this?_ Harry wanted to ask, but remained silent. His eyelashes fluttered as he tried to regain composure, and he swallowed past the lump in his throat. Draco was right, and Harry knew it even without the blond having to spell it out for him. This whole thing had just been a moment of weakness where he had wanted to indulge his vanity by using Draco as a means to bandage his injured pride.

"But you already knew this, didn't you?" Draco murmured, his eyes still fixed on Harry's, as though he had read Harry's mind.

Harry nodded, unable to tear his gaze away, and the blond's eyes half closed. "Still, it's not very nice to take advantage of people's feelings."

"I'm not," Harry said. Somehow he got the feeling that Draco didn't believe in his words; he felt as though the blond subconsciously thought he was lying.

"But you don't reciprocate them, do you?"

Harry inhaled sharply. This moment reminded him of the confrontation with Ginny, except this time, there was no hesitation on his part when he answered. "Not yet."

Draco's eyes widened in the slightest, and Harry could see the hope shimmering in his eyes. _'What does that mean?'_ Harry could see the blond thinking, and that itself placated him. He was telling the truth. He couldn't really put into words his feelings towards Draco just then, but he knew that there would come a time when he would be able to.

"Just," he said, reaching out to touch the blond's hand, "promise me that you won't stop believing in me."

"Stop believing in the man who saved the world—no, the man who saved my life?" Draco smiled, a small, yet genuine one, and Harry's heart soared. "Never."

"Thank you," Harry whispered, meaning it. "For everything." Then, not knowing any other way to make sure that Draco understood that he was being sincere, he leaned forward, stopping inches away from Draco's face, unsure. The blond chuckled as he closed the gap between them and kissed Harry, and Harry sighed in relief, glad to know that what had happened hadn't changed anything.

"You are very welcome," Draco replied and then nodded over Harry's shoulder. "But if you _really_ want to show me how grateful you are, then you'll go back to sleep."

Harry rolled his eyes but complied. He'd gotten what he had wanted—for now—and had no reason to further pester Draco. Besides, he was still pretty light-headed from his fever, and the exhaustion was weighing him down despite him rebelling against it.

Getting under the quilt, he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, a small smile on his face. Just as he was about to drift off, though, he heard Draco sigh in a defeated way, and his heart fell. Opening his eyes, he glanced upwards to see the blond seated behind his desk, looking out the window with a brooding expression on his face. Unable to stand the guilt, Harry buried his head in his pillow and groaned.

 _Really. What the hell are we doing?_

* * *

 **10:19 AM**

Harry sighed for the dozenth time as he sat at his desk with his head in his hands. The more he thought about the previous evening and earlier that morning, the worse he felt.

 _I am such a hypocrite,_ he thought bitterly. _First I accuse my wife of cheating, then I go force my self-pity on Draco and use his feelings to make myself feel better. I never even stopped to think how Ginny or Draco felt. Not even once. I am the worst._

He groaned, feeling his chest tighten and a lump form in the back of his throat. He sniffled, wiping his nose on his sleeve and making a face. "Great, now I have a cold to top it all off. Just what I needed."

With a sigh, he dropped his head onto his desk and hit it against the cool glass top over and over again. With every _thump,_ images of Ginny and Draco flashed through his mind, swirling into a tornado of confusion, making him feel worse and worse about himself and what a terrible person he was.

 _How did things end up this way?_ he wondered woefully. _When did everything get so out of hand?_

The more he tried to do things right, the worse they seemed to get. He knew he was at fault this time around, with both with Ginny and Draco, and he knew that he had to set things straight. If what Dan had said about Ginny and Grant was true, then didn't that mean that his wife was the actual victim and not he? Why was it that he was so quick to blame and reacted first before considering things and thinking about the other person more?

 _Human beings are such selfish creatures._

And not only did he have to deal with Draco and Ginny, he also was yet to question Grant, who was locked in a cellar in Malfoy Manor, courtesy of Draco's patronage, and Dan was still with Ginny and the kids. He had only gone back to shower and change, but no one had been home. Ginny must've gone to drop the kids to school, and he couldn't help but worry about what she and Dan were up to.

He coughed and tried to inhale past the block in his nose, but failed. Groaning, he focused on the coolness of the glass and tried to empty his mind for a moment.

There were three knocks on his door, and whoever it was stepped inside before Harry could respond. "Rogers just reported to me that Hunt and his men—" Buxley stopped abruptly in what he was saying, and Harry raised his head to eye his deputy despondently. "What's wrong with you?" the older wizard asked with a frown. "You look like shite."

"Gee, thanks. That's just what I needed to hear right now," Harry replied sarcastically as he pushed himself up and settled back in his seat.

"But you really do," Buxley said as he came to stand on the other side of the desk. "Are you sick?"

Harry sniffed noisily and coughed in answer, and Buxley crinkled his nose. "Anyway," Harry said, waving to the file in his deputy's hands. "You were saying?"

"Right. So Hunt and his men—"

Buxley was interrupted again by the door being thrown open, and a pale-faced Li stumbled in. "Sir," the man gasped, "Sir, I think you should come see this."

Harry and Buxley exchanged looks before making towards the door, and Li hurried out before them. As soon as they stepped out of the Auror Office, Harry asked, "The lab?" and Li nodded. They Disapparated, arriving just outside the door to the lab, and Li rushed in, muttering under his breath.

Unlike the previous few times Harry had been there, it was now full of witches and wizards in lab coats, bustling about and looking busy. Li led them to a set of rooms in the far back and poked his head into one.

"Cat!"

A petite woman with long, straight, jet-black hair and big, round eyes looked up from a microscope. "Brian! If you're looking for the tissue sample results from this morning, I gave them to Laura."

"Oh, yeah, I got that, thanks. That's now why I'm here, though." Li stepped back to allow Harry and Buxley to enter the room, and the witch's eyes grew so wide at the sight of them that Harry was afraid they would pop right out of her head.

She blustered, her cheeks turning pink, and Li came to her rescue by introducing her. "This is Catherin, my wife."

Both Harry and Buxley turned to stare at Li, and their surprise must've shown on their faces because Li grinned from ear to ear. "Cat's been working here longer than I have and was the one who convinced me into joining. She's mostly involved with the Department of Experimenting and Research in how to better combine the useful aspects of both Muggle technologies and magic in forensics engineering, but since she's also a forensics scientist, we got her to come down here and help us with the vandals case." Li smiled at his wife and took her hand as she came to stand beside him. "She's been a great help."

"It's always a pleasure working with you, Brian," Cat said sweetly, and the lovely moment between them caused a knot of guilt to form in Harry's stomach.

Buxley cleared his throat, and Li motioned to the workstation behind them. "Cat, I brought Aurors Potter and Buxley down here to show them what you found."

Cat nodded and rummaged around for a minute before holding out a green file. "I conducted a test on the paint sample of the graffiti and found some rather unusual residue in-between the many layers," she said as Harry took the file and flipped through it with Buxley peering over his shoulder. "At first, I wasn't too sure, so I re-conducted the test, only to get the same results again."

Harry frowned down at the file in his hands, confused. "Gunpowder?"

"That makes no sense," Buxley added, sounding just as confused as Harry.

"We thought the same," Li said as he pulled out another file and handed it to Buxley, "so we decided to conduct a few more tests to get more conclusive results. And what we found wasn't really what we were expecting."

Buxley tapped the open page of the file handed to him. "This says you found blood in the layers too?" He turned to Harry. "A shooting, perhaps?"

Li and Cat shook their heads. "No, we didn't find blood in-between the layers, one of the layers _was_ blood," Li said.

"I wasn't looking for blood or tissue of any sort during the initial tests, so I missed it the first time," Cat continued. "The sample that I used initially had less blood in it, hence the gunpowder stood out more. But when we looked into further, it turned out that the gunpowder was mixed in with the layer of blood."

"So it _is_ a shooting, then?" Harry asked.

Li shrugged. "Probably; we can't really tell from just this."

"What we thought, however—going by context—was that this may be more of a ritualistic thing more than anything," Cat finished.

"So, in the end, this could be a homicide after all," Buxley muttered, eyeing the file.

"It may or may not be," Li said. "We don't have enough samples to tell for sure, but from the ones we've tested, we found nothing but blood in-between the layers of paint."

"What does that mean?" Harry asked.

"It means that the blood could've come from anywhere and not necessarily from a dead body. It could've been taken from a living person or even from a blood bank." Cat nodded at the file in Harry's hands. "The gunpowder could've been mixed in later, when the paint was being applied, or it could've been accidental—perhaps the container the blood was in had gunpowder residue."

"So it's _not_ a homicide?" Buxley asked, sounding agitated.

"Like I said, that's not something we can determine. We can conduct DNA tests and see if the results coincide with any missing persons reports in our database—which we think is highly unlikely going by the fact that this seems more ritualistic and because there haven't been any reports that coincide with this case—but that would take a long while. And unless you really want us to, I think you should just take this as a case of some crazy kids delving in dark magic until we gain more evidence to prove otherwise," Li said seriously.

"But if we were to get our hands on more samples—directly from the source would be even better—then we probably could help you put aside the possibility of murder," Cat said quickly when Buxley made a frustrated sound.

"That sounds like a plan," Harry replied with a nod, handing back the file. "I'll get Rogers to arrange for a squad to take you down there during patrol time."

Cat nodded with a smile. "Thank you."

"No, thank you. You've been a great help. Keep up the good work."

As they exited the room, Harry heard Cat squeal and Li chuckle, and he couldn't help but smile. Just as they were exiting the lab, though, Li caught up with them. "Sir, could I speak with you for a moment?"

Buxley shot Harry a look but stepped outside and Disapparated without complaint. Harry turned to the other man. "What is it?"

"I know it's none of my business," Li said hurriedly, "but I wanted to know if you needed me to look into anything else with regards to—" he paused, glancing over his shoulder, and dropped his voice, "—Grant, or if I can focus on the vandals case."

"I have everything under control for now, Li, thanks," Harry said with a smile. He clapped the man on the shoulder. "You just focus on helping us crack this vandals case so I can take you and your wife out for lunch like I promised you."

Li beamed. "She's going to be ecstatic when I tell her."

Harry chuckled as Li bowed with a little flourish before heading back to where Cat was. He exited the lab, the smile slipping off his face as he spun on his heel and Disapparated. As soon as he appeared outside the Auror Office, he strode up to the closest Auror and told the fellow that he would be leaving for an early lunch and be back by noon. The Auror nodded, and Harry made his way to the lifts, his expression grim. He was going to go to Malfoy Manor and deal with Grant so that he could give Ginny the peace of mind she needed.

No sooner had he pressed the button to go down, however, someone called out to him. He looked over his shoulder and bit back a frustrated sigh as Rogers rushed over to him. "What is it?" he snapped before the man could even speak.

Rogers started, and Harry held up a hand in apology, pinching the bridge of his nose with a sigh. "Sorry, go ahead," he said, sniffling.

"Er, I'm sorry if I caught you at a bad time, but I thought you'd want to see this."

He held out a brown folder, and Harry took it from him, flipping it open to skim its contents. "And this is…?"

"Something that the Fey twins found while sifting through the boxes of documents in storage."

Harry frowned. "What were they doing down in storage?"

Rogers shrugged. "Lillian told me that they had offered to rearrange and make proper records of all the documents that had been stowed away in storage for whatever reasons."

"Why _did_ those two become Aurors?" Harry wondered out loud.

Rogers scratched his head, looking just as perplexed as Harry felt. "Beats me. They're real hard workers, too. Lillian keeps gushing about how everything's become so orderly in the archives now that those two are keeping track of things and doing what others couldn't be bothered with."

"Alright. To the archives, then?"

"Yessir!"

Harry nodded, and the two got on the lift. He flipped through the file only for the sake of keeping up appearances, barely paying attention to Rogers' updates regarding the case, as he quelled his frustration from being unable to confront Grant. He sighed softly, knowing that his work was far more important than a personal vendetta, but it didn't bode well with him that a felon was being held captive in somebody's home.

 _And not just anybody's home, either._

Merlin knew he already owed Draco enough without involving him in the menagerie that was his private life. Not to mention all the pent-up feelings between them that were palpable the moment they were alone together.

"Everybody seems to have weird obsessions," Rogers was saying with regards to the twins, but Harry found it ironic how fitting a line it was to his own situation.

 _If only it were as simple as that,_ he thought as they stepped out of the lift and made their way down the rather dimly lit corridor. A shiver ran down his spine as the lamps flickered, and he shook his head. "This place gets creepier every time I come down here."

"Agreed," Rogers said in a low voice as they turned a corner and came to face massive double doors. There was a smaller door built into the right one, which was ajar, and Harry and Rogers made their way through it.

As soon as they were inside, a witch behind the front desk looked up and brightened at the sight of Rogers. "Peter! Couldn't get by another day without seeing me, eh?"

"You know me so well," Rogers greeted with a wink, leaving Harry feeling slightly awkward for third-wheeling in their flirtatious banter. _So Rogers and the archives lady, huh? Who knew?_

"You remember Head Auror Potter, I'm sure?" Rogers said, gesturing towards him.

"Of course," Lillian said as she stood up and held her arm out. "It's a pleasure seeing you again, sir."

He smiled, surprised by her firm grip, and shook her hand once. "Thank you for your hard work as always, Lillian."

The witch beamed, and Rogers nodded towards the bookshelves. "Are my troublesome twosome still at it?"

Lillian rolled her eyes and jabbed her thumb over her shoulder. "Straight back and left. There should be a door on your right behind the last bookshelf with an 'authorised personnel only' sign on it." She shook her head, a bemused smile on her face. "They're nothing short of a miracle, if you ask me. I mean, you don't generally prefer to pore over old records day in and day out rather than head to the field, right?"

Rogers shrugged, and Harry simply stood awkwardly, still smiling, unsure if it was a rhetorical question or if she was expecting a reply.

"To each their own, I s'pose," Lillian said in response to her own question, leaving Harry feeling relieved.

"Alright, I'll see you at lunch, then?" Rogers said as they walked around the front desk.

"You bet," Lillian replied with a wink, and Harry cleared his throat as Rogers shot her a shit-eating grin.

"Maybe keep the flirting to a minimum while your boss is around?" Harry said once they were out of ear-shot, satisfied when Rogers turned red with embarrassment.

"Right, my bad," he mumbled, and Harry patted him on the back.

"Buxley wouldn't bully you half as much if you showed that sort of confidence in your work."

Rogers muttered something incoherent, and Harry only grinned wider as they found the door with the sign Lillian had mentioned and pushed it open.

It was a small room—at least it looked small due to the sheer amount of boxes and whatnot scaling the walls and covering the floor. In the very centre sat the Fey twins, both engrossed in their own set of records. The lad—Nathaniel, if Harry remembered correctly—was sitting cross-legged, scanning through a large book, a quill stuck in his messy bun. The girl, Natasha, was busy scribbling away on a lengthy scroll of parchment, her quill zooming back and forth in quick succession. The sight reminded him so much of Hermione from back when they were in school that he had to press his lips together to keep from chucking.

They were so involved in their work that neither noticed the two men's arrival until Rogers cleared his throat loudly and called out to them. The twins looked up, annoyed at being interrupted, but their expressions mellowed down when they saw Harry.

"You got here sooner than we expected," Natasha said, her voice as crisp as Harry remembered it to be from the first time he'd spoken to her, although she looked immensely tired and in desperate need of sleep.

"Is that a problem?" Rogers asked, his voice slightly strained, and Harry glanced sideways at the man, surprised to see the frown on his face.

 _Do they not get along?_

"Not at all," Natasha said in an off-handed way, and Harry saw Rogers bristle out of the corner of his eyes.

 _Ah. She's probably a little too high-strung for him to handle._

He hid a smile at how similar the two were to Hermione and watched as Natasha jabbed her brother in the side. "Niel, the folder."

Nathaniel barely even paused in his speed-reading as he reached behind him to pluck a brown folder similar to the one Harry was holding from under a stack of papers and handed it to his sister. Natasha eyed the writing on the cover and pursed her lips. "Not this one, the other one."

"You have it."

Harry was surprised at having heard the lad speak for the first time. His voice was slow and mellow, the exact opposite of his sister's sharp, business-like tone. She looked around for a moment before picking up a folder with a nod. "You're right, my bad. Here." She held it out for Harry to take.

"Thanks," Harry said as he took it from her and scanned its contents. There were detailed notes beside clippings of old photos and articles. Some of them were written in neat, elegant cursive, while the rest were in a lazy, looping scrawl. He had to bite back a smile at how the twins' personalities showed even in their handwriting, and he thought back to an article that Ginny had written in the early days of her career as a journalist regarding the same.

His smile turned into a frown when he reached the bottom of the page, however, where he spotted an old painting of a symbol that looked almost exactly like the graffiti they had found. "This can't be right." He looked up to eye the duo, who exchanged knowing glances, as though they had anticipated his reaction. "Are you sure of this?"

"As you can see for yourself, all of the information is real and was taken from multiple sources that we considered to be fairly accurate," Nathaniel said.

"I thought all the communities and groups involved with the Dark Arts were uprooted after the war?" Harry said to Rogers, who only shrugged and shook his head.

"They were, sir. Except this one isn't from that time."

Before he could ask the man what he meant, Natasha spoke up. "This society is from a time even before the Founders of Hogwarts. It was said to be feared to such an extent by the common man that it had a great hold on the people for centuries, until it was taken down by King Arthur himself and an army of powerful witches and wizards led by Merlin."

"The society was rumoured to have been restored by Morgan le Fay in an attempt to overthrow King Arthur, but we found no conclusive evidence that supported this myth," Nathaniel finished.

"And you believe that this society of dark wizards has been resurrected once again?" Harry asked, sceptical.

"Hardly," Natasha said in a tone of voice that made Harry feel foolish for asking the question. He shared a glance with Rogers, but Natasha continued to speak, oblivious to the non-verbal understanding that had passed between the two men. "We think that whoever is using the society's emblem has done their fair share of research and probably intended to revive it, but fell short of meeting his goal for whatever reason."

She turned to her brother, who held out the other folder. "As you can see, this society—whose name has been lost through time and misinterpretations—has become something that can be considered to be on par with the Illuminati," Nathaniel said.

"So it's not real?" Harry asked as he skimmed through the contents of the second folder.

"It definitely _was_ real, and perhaps still exists somewhere in the world, but in reference to this case, you can consider it to be a cheap knock-off of what was once a great society that birthed generations of witches and wizards who lived to perfect the Dark Arts," Natasha said. "We believe that the perpetrators are attempting to imitate the rituals and practices of The Society—as we have decided to call it—but the results show that they are very crudely executed in a hodgepodge manner, perhaps due to limited knowledge."

"That could explain the gunpowder residue Buxley told me about in the layer of blood that was used in the graffiti," Rogers said in a thoughtful voice.

"I assure you that the gunpowder was a mistake," Natasha said before Harry could respond to Rogers. "It most definitely is not part of any of rituals we have come across so far, further emphasising my point."

"So Buxley's suspicion of these being a group of unruly teenagers may be fairly accurate," Harry mused out loud.

"That sounds like a definite possibility," Nathaniel said with a nod. "From what you said and what we've read up on the case so far, these graffiti seem more like immature pranks pulled for no good reason other than to distract the Ministry—"

He broke off, his eyes going wide, and both Natasha and Harry caught on to his line of thought instantly.

"Niel, that's brilliant!" Natasha exclaimed, ruffling her brother's hair affectionately.

Harry nodded, placing his hand on his chin, his mind whirring. "I agree. We've never really put much thought into the meaning or reasoning behind the graffiti beyond them being an act of public destruction, but this definitely makes sense."

"What?" Rogers asked, looking from one person to the other cluelessly.

"You two," Harry said as he held both folders out in each hand, "fantastic work. Keep at it and see if you can find any connections between the graffiti and anything else related to dark magic that could lead us to the perpetrators."

The twins smiled. "Leave it us, sir!"

Harry spun on his heel, clapped Rogers on the back, and exited the room. "Hurry up, Rogers, or I'll leave you behind."

"I'm—I'm not quite sure if I understand what exactly happened back there," Rogers said as they hurried down the aisles.

"Have a great day, Lillian," Harry said with a wave as they passed by her. Harry caught her sharing a curious look with Rogers as they exited the archives.

"Sir," Rogers panted as they came to a stop outside the lift.

Harry jabbed the button to go up and turned to his subordinate. "Mate, you gotta up your game if you want anybody to take you seriously." When the tips of the man's ears turned red, Harry grinned and said. "Your recruits may have just helped us crack this case wide open."

"How?" Rogers asked, sounding desperate.

"If these acts of vandalism are indeed related to a dark society but are carried out by a group of clumsy teenagers who just want to rebel against the system and have a bit of fun, what do you think their purpose is?" Harry asked as they entered the lift.

He pressed the button for the level that went up to where the Auror Office was located, waiting as he watched the gears click together in Rogers' head. Finally, the man turned to stare at him wide-eyed.

"You think all of this is just to distract us from something even bigger?"

Harry slapped the man on the chest as the lift pinged and the voice announced their arrival. "Bingo."

* * *

 **A/n: *Although I have quoted from the bible, the nightmare does not, in any way at all, allude to any particular religion or to the existence of God/heaven/hell. Purgatory is symbolic of Harry's current state of being stuck in-between and is not a reference to the catholic definition of it (think Supernatural and Dean being stuck in Purgatory). Just wanted to clarify that.**

 **Also, I have so much fun writing these investigation scenes, especially because it takes quite a bit of research and analyses. That being said, I hope you'll forgive me for any logistical and technical errors since I'm not wholly knowledgeable on how police investigations or the work of forensic scientists occur beyond what I've read and/or seen in shows (the latter of which is wholly inaccurate, mind you.)**

 **If there's anything else that catches your eye that you would like to bring to my notice, do leave a review and let me know and I will definitely work towards clarifying your concerns and rectifying any errors. :)**

 **Thank you for reading and let me know what you think of the story so far!**

 **Lots of love,**

 **Arty xx**


	35. 35 Lies: Newfound Cracks in the Glass

**A/n: It's funny that before, I used to find it rather difficult to reach 3.5k words and now I'm easily crossing 7,000. Well, at least I'm making up for the wait, right? :3 Also, it's finally December! Yay!**

* * *

 **Chapter 35**

 **Newfound Cracks in the Glass**

* * *

 **[December 1 2011]**

 **11:11 AM**

"Thank you for coordinating with Astoria and Scorpius so they could join Ginny and my kids in Diagon today," Harry said, somewhat formally, as Draco ushered him into the manor.

"That was the simplest solution to get them both out of the house on such short notice," Draco replied with a smile. "Besides, my wife and son seem to be rather taken with yours."

Harry laughed awkwardly, and the blond shot him a curious look as they made their way down the winding hallways. He could tell that Draco was behaving as he normally would so as to spare Harry's feelings—or maybe it was the other way around—but the more Draco acted as though nothing had happened, the harder it became for Harry to apologise to the man. He decided that once he had taken care of Grant, he would sort things out with the blond.

"Here we are," Draco said as he stopped in front of a wall-length tapestry. He pushed it aside to reveal a sturdy-looking metal door and pointed the tip of his wand at the keyhole. " _Alohomora."_

There was a grating sound, and the door pushed open. Stairs led down into the dimly lit cellar, and the moment Harry stepped in, he was hit with the pungent scent of wine. Inhaling deeply, he exhaled through his mouth, feeling an itch in his throat when he thought back to the last time he had come down there to take his pick from Draco's collection of the finest wine.

"I've secured him to the pipes at the back," Draco said as he led Harry down the rows of shelves. He stopped at the far wall and glanced around, his brow furrowing.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, drawing his wand automatically.

"He's not here," Draco hissed as he turned in a slow circle. "Did he manage to free himself? I thought we made sure he didn't have a wand on him."

"Doesn't matter even if he did," Harry said in a quiet voice as they made their way back, "since he's a Squib."

Draco made a strange sound in his throat but didn't say anything in reply. They scoured the entire area but didn't find Grant anywhere.

"This isn't possible," Draco said, his voice strained. "If he isn't a wizard then there is no way he could have escaped." His eyes widened and he stared at the door. "Unless…"

"What?" Harry asked urgently. He neither knew how Grant had escaped, nor did he know when he had gotten away, but if he was still in the manor, they didn't have much time for debate and discussion.

"Leeky!" Draco called.

A moment later a _pop_ sounded and the house elf appeared, staring up at them with wide, unblinking eyes. "Master has summoned Leeky?" she asked in her usual squeaky voice.

Draco stepped towards her. "Leeky, did you come down here this morning?"

The elf looked around as though seeing the cellar for the first time. "Leeky is coming here to do the dusting, master."

Harry and Draco exchanged a look before the blond turned back to the elf and asked, "And did you happen to see anyone back there while you were here?" pointing to where they had just come from.

"Yes," Leeky said, nodding so fervently that her ears flopped back and forth. "Leeky helped master's friend find his way out."

Draco inhaled sharply and Harry groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "This is what I get for hiding a criminal in my home without telling the elves in the off chance that my wife may end up finding out," Draco muttered. He then addressed Leeky with a sigh. "Leeky, I want you to immediately let all the house elves know that a dangerous man is loose in the manor. Ask them to alert me immediately when they find him."

The elf's eyes grew wider than they already were, and she seemed to shrink back. "Leeky is sorry," she squeaked. "Leeky shall punish herself—"

"First find the man," Draco snapped, and Leeky flinched, nodding vehemently.

"Yes, yes, master!"

She Disapparated, leaving Harry and Draco to share another look before hurrying up the stairs and down the hallway. "I should've known this would happen," Draco said as they turned a corner. "This is what you get for trying to keep secrets from your wife."

Harry felt like that last line was a subtle jab at him, but he ignored it as they reached an intersection where the corridors branched off into four. "That one leads towards the kitchens," Draco said, pointing to the left. "I'll take this one," he continued, nodding to the right.

"Don't do anything heroic," Harry said to the blond, who simply scoffed in response, and they made their way down their separate paths.

 _This is my fault,_ Harry thought as he checked whichever rooms were unlocked on his way. _I shouldn't have let Draco talk me into hiding Grant here. Thank Merlin Astoria and Scorpius aren't home._

He entered the dining room and paused, eyes searching the large room until he spotted the door at the very back. Deciding that it would take longer to run all the way there, he Disapparated and reappeared before the kitchen door. He pushed it open and stiffened at the sight before him.

It was as though a tornado had whirled through; tables were overturned, utensils were strewn about, spilt food decorated the walls and floor, and a group of elves stood huddled in a corner, looking terrified. There was a clattering sound from around a corner, and Harry raced past the scared elves, throwing a hurried apology their way.

He entered a second room, his eyes scanning the area until it landed on a man by the far window, who was wrestling an elf that was clinging to him. "Hey!" Harry yelled, racing forwards. The man cast a hurried glance over his shoulder before plucking the elf off of him and throwing it across the room at Harry. " _Stupefy!"_ Harry yelled as he caught the elf and stumbled backwards.

The spell missed its mark, shattering a glass jar just beside the window, and Grant grabbed whatever was in it and threw it at Harry as he made to jump out the window. Harry tried to hit Grant with another spell, but the elf was clutching him around his neck and refusing to let go, and he could barely see around the creature.

Two _pops_ sounded from behind him, and Harry heard Draco yell, " _Stupefy!"_ The spell hit Grant in his side and threw him against the far wall. He crashed against a shelf, and knives and ladles and whatnot clattered down on him as he lay sprawled across the floor.

Harry finally succeeded in prying the elf off him and placed it down on the ground before hurrying over to where Draco was kneeling beside Grant. He was about to ask the blond if he was OK when he noticed the knife sticking out of Grant's abdomen.

"Shite," Harry swore as he got on his knees and carefully ripped Grant's clothes open around the wound. The knife was slim and wasn't embedded all the way to the hilt, so Harry hoped it hadn't pierced any vital organs. "We gotta stop the bleeding," he said hurriedly to Draco, who was white as a sheet and frozen in place. When the blond didn't move, Harry snapped his fingers in front of his face and startled Draco out of his daze. "I need gauze or bandages, or anything I can bind the wound with."

Draco nodded and got to his feet, and Harry carefully pulled the knife out. He wasn't too sure what he was doing, but he had some knowledge in first aid and had experienced enough injuries in his many years as an Auror to at least be able to stop the bleeding and sear the wound shut. Draco appeared with the bandages just as Harry had finished knocking Grant out when he had regained consciousness due to the pain.

"We've got to get him to St Mungo's," Harry said as he bandaged Grant's wound up.

"Is that wise?" Draco asked, sounding slightly shaken.

"Wiser than having a body on our hands," Harry replied, rising to his feet. Draco had an expression on his face that seemed as though he was hoping what Harry had just said was a joke, and Harry didn't have the heart to tell him otherwise. Instead, he said, "I'll assign two Aurors to Grant's room at all times to make sure he doesn't give us the slip again."

Draco nodded, sitting down on a stool and covering his face with his hands. "Why is it that things somehow always seem to get out of hand whenever you're involved?"

"That is a question I have been asking myself for the longest time," Harry muttered as he took the glass of water an elf offered him. He decided that he could spare himself and Draco a few minutes to let the adrenaline rush pass before figuring out how to get Grant down to the hospital without making his injury worse.

* * *

 **1:34 PM**

"Sorry for pulling you away at such a crucial time," Harry said to Huckleberry, one of the two Aurors who had offered to keep an eye on Grant, as he shook the man's hand. "Rogers was rather upset that one of the very few people who knew his way around the alleyways is taking a break from the investigation."

"I'm the one who should thank you for letting me do this," Huckleberry said with a chuckle. "Reckon I'd 've gone mad if I'd stayed in those dingy alleys any longer."

Harry nodded with a smile. "Fair enough. Besides, you deserve a break, considering you're the one who caught us our first proper suspect."

Huckleberry shrugged and scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "Can't say I ought to have too much credit for that, boss. The fella practically ran straight into my arms."

Harry waved a hand in dismissal of the man's modesty. "We wouldn't have found him if you hadn't offered to go into that maze. Most would've refused."

"Well, it's easy to get lost down there. 'Specially if you're not used to it."

The two paused in their conversation as the door opened and a Healer stepped out. He motioned towards Harry, and Harry followed him further down the corridor. The Healer cast Huckleberry a wary look before saying, "The patient's injury isn't anything life-threatening, but I would like to keep him under observation for a while. He is quite mal-nourished, and blood tests showed that he has severe vitamin deficiencies. We're worried that his blood may be too thin to clot on its own."

Harry nodded. "Keep him for as long as you see fit. If he gives you any trouble, my men will be around to help."

The Healer cleared his throat and said in a low voice, "Forgive me for being presumptuous, but I had to ask: is this man a victim of a kidnapping of some sort?"

Harry stiffened. "What made you think that?" he asked, his voice a little hoarse.

"Oh, no, please don't mind me. I fancy myself a bit of a detective because I've participated in a few minor cases," The Healer said, waving his hands and looking embarrassed. "I wanted to join the force to offer my services, but I didn't pass the exam, so…"

Harry nodded, his heart racing. "Er, I see. Well, let my men know if there's anything you need. I'll be back to check on him."

The Healer bustled away, leaving Harry to mentally berate himself for not concealing the rope burns around Grant's wrists from being tied up. He had been slipping up a little too much of late. He waved to Huckleberry, who saluted smartly from his position outside Grant's room, and made his way to the waiting room.

Draco jumped to his feet and rushed over as soon as he spotted Harry. "How is he?" he asked, sounding breathless.

"He's fine," Harry assured the blond, squeezing his shoulder as an added measure. "They want to keep him under observation for a little while, which works perfectly for us since we no longer need to find a place to hide him now."

"Was it really alright to involve other Aurors?" Draco asked, his voice low, as they proceeded outside.

"The ones who I picked know when to ask questions and when not to," Harry replied as they made their way to the Apparition point behind the hospital. "Anyway, I have to head back to the office, but will you be alright on your own?"

Draco nodded and mumbled that he'd be perfectly fine, but he was still pale and kept his gaze fixed on the ground for some reason. Feeling the guilt tug at his conscience, Harry gripped Draco by the elbow, waiting until the blond finally looked up to meet his eyes before saying, "I'm sorry."

Confusion flickered across his face and Draco asked, "For what?"

Harry made a vague motion with his free hand. "For last night."

Draco seemed to deflate; his shoulders slumped and he sighed long and deep. Finally, he said. "Please, don't apologise. I was just as much at fault for what happened as you. I indulge you far too much."

"That you do," Harry murmured. His gaze flitted down to the blond's lips for a moment before returning to his eyes. _I want to kiss him._

The random thought drifted through his mind before he could stop himself, and Draco's cheeks coloured slightly, as though he knew exactly what Harry was thinking. He cleared his throat and said, "Well, I best get back home and make sure everything is exactly as it was this morning before my wife and son return."

Harry nodded once, still holding onto the blond's arm. "Right. Well. Call me if you need me."

"I will," Draco said with a smile as he squeezed Harry's arm and stepped back, forcing Harry to let go. Before he could say anything else, Draco spun on the spot and Disapparated, leaving Harry all alone in the quiet alleyway.

He ran a hand down his face and swallowed. "Shite," he swore, feeling his face grow hot when he wondered if his intentions were as obvious to Draco as they were to him.

As though to further emphasise his conflict, his phone rang, Ginny's name flashing across the screen. Biting back a sigh, he answered the call and greeted her as cheerfully as he could. "Hi, Gin!"

"Hey," she said, not as enthusiastically. "You seem happy."

"I do?" he asked, toning down his faux happiness. "Maybe because we just got a huge lead on that case I've been working on for so long now."

"That's great," she said, but she sounded distracted. There was a pause, making Harry's mind jump to the worst conclusions. He could hear the kids laughing in the background, so he reckoned that she must still be in Diagon. "Listen, where are you right now?" she finally asked, causing Harry to glance around for an answer.

"Er, just came out for lunch," he said, spotting a small café on the other side of the street. Lying to his wife seemed to have become second nature to him now. "Why?"

"No reason," she said, but it sure as hell didn't seem like it.

He waited for a few moments before saying, "Ginny, what's the matter?"

"Nothing," she said more forcefully, but he could hear the sound of a chair scraping and someone asked her where she was going. "Too noisy, I'll be right back," he heard her say, followed by a few more moments of background noise before her voice came back on. "Sorry, I didn't want Astoria hearing anything she wouldn't want to hear."

"And what would that be?" he asked, heart starting to race.

She cleared her throat. "I just received a text message from Mathew, Dan's uncle. He wants to meet Dan and me this evening. I thought I should let you know."

"Wait," Harry said before even fully processing what his wife had just told him. "How and why does this fellow have your cell phone number?"

"Because I gave it to him?"

Harry grated his teeth together. "Ginny, do you realise that this habit of yours where you give strangers your personal information is what has caused this whole mess in the first place?"

"I couldn't possibly send him an owl, could I?" Ginny said, and Harry noticed that her voice was high-pitched, not in order to be heard, but because she was exasperated.

"Why not? He's a wizard, isn't he?" he said, his own voice raised.

There was silence from Ginny's end, and it took Harry a second to realise that she hadn't told him that. A moment later, she said as much. "How do you know that? I don't remember mentioning it to you."

"How do you _think,_ Ginny?"

"You did a background check on him?" Ginny asked, her voice so high she was almost screaming.

"Obviously!" Harry had asked Li for information on Dan's uncle so as to make sure that he wasn't another Greggory Grant. The thought of sending the boy from one bad home to the next made his blood run cold.

There was another pause, and Harry pinched the bridge of his nose as he tried to calm himself. He knew Ginny disliked it when he went behind her back and ignored people's privacy, but he was doing it for her sake—considering she was apparently the sort of person who gave her details to whomsoever that asked. His mistake just then, however, was not realising that Ginny would misunderstand his intentions, especially since he hadn't yet spoken to her about their… _discussion_ yet _._

"I don't believe this," she finally said, her voice quiet.

"What's not to believe?" he asked, massaging his temples with a little cough. His head was stuffy from his cold, he was starving, and it was chilly out; it wasn't exactly the ideal time or situation to have a prolonged argument with his wife that he was sure wasn't going to end well.

 _Is there ever an ideal time or situation for this sort of thing, though?_

Ginny's voice pulled him out of his thoughts when she asked, "Do you trust me so little now that you have to go behind my back and conduct investigations on all the men I meet?"

His mouth fell open, the realisation of his mistake hitting him a moment too late. "No, Ginny, that's not why I did it!" he said hurriedly, hoping beyond hope that she didn't cut the call before he could explain himself.

There was more silence, and he paced up and down, slapping his forehead for being so stupid. "Gin, listen to me. What I did has nothing to do with me trusting you. I just wanted to make sure that this man is who he claims to be and that Dan is in good hands. The last thing we need is to send that child from one terrible parent to the next."

Ginny didn't reply for so long that Harry had to keep checking his phone to see if the call was still connected. "Ginny," he tried again, desperate, and heard her inhale deeply.

"I'm meeting him at that little café that serves the buttered crumpets you love—you know which one I'm talking about—so if you're that worried, then why don't you come check on me?" she said, her voice somewhat withdrawn, and Harry instantly knew that she was challenging him to take the bait.

"I won't. Not because I trust him or don't trust you or anything of that sort, but because I have to head back to the office to take care of this case. But if you need me, I'll be there in a heartbeat."

Ginny chuckled dryly, and he could picture her shaking her head at his pathetic attempt to make up for his stupid mistake. "Also, and I don't want to do this on the phone, so let me know when you're back home. We need to talk."

"We do."

After a moment's deliberation, Harry added, "And I owe you an overdue apology."

He expected Ginny to maybe say something along the lines of 'No you don't,' or 'I do too,' but she surprised him yet again by simply saying, "OK."

Harry pressed his lips together, annoyed that his wife thought that he was the only one in the wrong, and he had to bite back the urge to tell her that it took two people to both make and break a relationship. "Anyway, I really have to go now. Is there anything else you want to tell me?"

"Not really," Ginny said, and yet again she sounded like she had so much she wanted to say. "Astoria's probably wondering what's taking me so long, so I better get back."

Unable to contain his curiosity, Harry asked, "How is she?"

"Astoria?"

"Don't misunderstand why I'm asking," Harry said quickly.

Ginny sighed. "She's wonderful, Harry. She's a wonderful mother, wonderful company, and, I think, a wonderful friend. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"Are Al and Scorpius getting along?" Harry asked, ignoring Ginny's final remark.

"More than ever," she said, her voice gentler.

He nodded. He was glad his son had taken a liking to Draco's. That, at least, would hopefully force away any sort of prejudice towards the Malfoys, and in particular, Draco. He knew he was going to have to tell Ginny about Antares someday, and he hoped that Ginny and their kids getting close to Astoria and Scorpius would somewhat soften the blow. It wasn't exactly the most high-minded of things to do, but he did what he did to keep the people he cared about happy—or so he liked to believe. "Alright, then. Give the kids my love. I'll see you at home."

"Bye, Harry."

"Bye, Ginny."

He stared at the screen for a long minute, wondering why it had become so common of late for him to feel a sense of finality every time he said goodbye to his wife. Shaking his head clear of unnecessary thoughts, he pocketed his phone before spinning on the spot and Disapparating.

* * *

 **4:09 PM**

He sniffled as he stuffed the last piece of a muffin into his mouth—his only lunch since he hadn't managed to grab a bite earlier—and skimmed the reports on his desk. Hermione had given him a strong-smelling tonic for his cold as soon as he'd gotten back to the Ministry, and it was making him woozy and light-headed—a feeling he didn't quite mind just then. There were three knocks on his door as he finished eating, and Rogers poked his head in.

"Look who it is! The man of the hour!" Harry said with a grin.

Rogers beamed. "I shall take credit for my men's success."

"That's what I always do," Harry said with a chuckle as he took the file Rogers was holding out. "How did the questioning go?"

"He folded almost immediately." Rogers shook his head. "I don't blame the lad; Buxley is terrifying during interrogations."

"Must be the room," Harry said, smiling to himself at the inside joke between him and his deputy as he scanned the report. "Says here the fellow spilled his guts. Hope it didn't get too messy."

Rogers half-smiled, looking unsure of how long to continue with the light banter, and that sobered Harry down as he motioned for the brunet to take a seat. "What exactly did he say?"

"Mostly nonsensical things with a lot of pleading and bawling, but whatever did make sense corresponded to what we had presumed."

Harry nodded. "There's a mention of an anonymous source giving orders?"

"I've got people trying to track down the source, but they've covered their tracks well."

"No use going down that path, then," Harry said, marking a small line on the report with his quill. "Were you able to use the information the fellow gave you to track down his friends?"

"We managed to find the flat they were previously occupying, but it had been emptied by the time we got there. Hunt's men took Romney and some others down from forensics to collect samples that could be of use and see if they can pull any useful prints off of anything."

Harry nodded again. "Good. While we're waiting on Romney's team, have your men look around the area and see if they can find any witnesses who could help us identify the others."

"Already on it, sir," Rogers said, making Harry smile.

"Excellent job so far, Rogers. Keep at it."

"Thank you sir!"

"Oh, and can you send Buxley over?"

"Yessir!"

Harry handed the file back to Rogers and watched as he made his way to the door. Someone had been waiting outside, and they spoke for a minute before Dyers peeked in with a little wave. "Got a minute?" Hermione stood behind him, looking rather displeased, as Harry gestured for them to come in.

"Been a while since you visited," Harry said, holding his hand out. "What brings you down here on this fine day?"

Dyers shook Harry's hand once before taking a seat opposite him. Hermione Summoned over another chair and sat down as well. "Well," Dyers began, casting a sideways glance at Hermione, "we seem to have a problem."

Harry nodded once and placed his palms down flat on his desk. "Of course you do."

"Believe me when I say that I wouldn't be here either if it were left to me," Dyers leaned forwards to say.

Hermione cleared her throat and said in a stiff voice, "We have received information that you re-opened a case that was very recently closed. Is this true?"

Harry shrugged. "The case was only closed because we didn't have enough evidence to continue it. But now what we do, it makes sense that it's been re-opened."

"I see," was Hermione's only response as she jotted something down in her notepad.

Dyers scoffed at that and turned his attention back to Harry. "We have also received information that Deputy Buxley is no longer leading the investigation?"

"Deputy Buxley is overseeing the case but not leading the investigation, no," Harry said, shooting Hermione a questioning look—which she promptly ignored. "What is this about exactly?"

"I'm pretty sure you've already taken a guess, but our superiors aren't too pleased that you've not only re-opened an already closed case, but are directing all of our manpower towards it," Dyers said in a somewhat condescending tone of voice that made Harry bristle.

Harry sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. It never got any less annoying every time the higher-ups from the DMLE poked their unnecessarily long noses into his affairs. Why couldn't they simply let him do his job?

"From what you're saying," he finally said as he opened his eyes, "I'm going to take it that you assume that just because a case has been closed, we no longer get any complaints related to it?"

Dyers shrugged. "Did you?"

Harry glanced towards Hermione, who jerked her head to the side in an almost imperceptible motion. _I'm guessing that means not to answer the question._

"A report that we received after closing the case was what gave us the lead we needed to re-open it," Harry said instead, wording himself carefully. "And today we not only managed to catch one of the vandals, we also found their hide out. Our forensics team should be able to give us useable information by the weekend, after which we will be able to apprehend the rest of the perpetrators."

Dyers grunted and sat back, looking smug. "That's bullshit and you know it."

"I beg your pardon?" Harry said, his face growing hot. Did this man think that going out of his way to be infuriating helped his case?

"Even _I_ know that it takes ages to obtain useable forensic evidence. Did you actually think I would believe that you'd be able to close this case within a week of re-opening it, especially since it's one of your longest on-going cases? If it were that easy we wouldn't even need the Auror department now would we?"

Harry resisted the urge to glance at Hermione. _Damnit, he's done his homework._ "I never said the case would be resolved by this weekend," he began, and realised his mistake as soon as the words left his mouth.

"So you're telling me that this will carry forth into the next month? You do know that the closer we get to the end of the year, the longer your investigation is going to take, right?" Dyers said, and Harry was one bad decision away from hexing the smug look off his stupidly handsome face.

He saw Hermione shift in her seat out of the corner of his eye. "Auror Potter," she said, her voice clipped, and he tore his gaze away from the irritating man before him and fixed them on his best friend. "You mentioned having brought a suspect in for questioning?"

"Yes."

"Is he still in your custody?"

"Yes," Harry said, unsure of where Hermione was going with this.

"And did the suspect cooperate during the interrogation?"

The gears slowly clicking in place, Harry clasped his hands together and said, "Well, so far Deputy Buxley seems to be the only one who he listens to."

"I see. So if Mister Dyers here wanted to pose a few questions of his own to the suspect, say for the sake of furthering this case quicker, Deputy Buxley would be able to help?" Hermione asked, a familiar twinkle in her eyes.

"Gladly," Harry replied, turning to Dyers with a smile. "After all, it would perhaps be more reassuring if you were to gauge the situation on your own, wouldn't it?"

Dyers, meanwhile, had gone rigid. He paled when he saw that Harry and Hermione were serious and laughed nervously. "W-While that is an excellent idea," he said, "perhaps someone better trained would be able to glean more from the suspect than I could."

"Why, of course. That's why Aurors exist after all," Harry said promptly, watching with immense satisfaction as Dyers went red in the face.

Before the man could say anything, however, Hermione spoke up. "Of course, if you need either my help or Mister Dyers' we would gladly offer our full support in however small a way possible. After all, that was the purpose of our visit, was it not, Mister Dyers?"

Dyers mumbled something incorrigible and nodded as he rose to his feet. "Well, the higher-ups won't be too pleased to find out that this case won't be closed any time soon, so I suppose it only makes sense that I—we over-see it so as to ensure it progresses smoothly."

"Of course," Harry said, standing up. "And I reckon our bosses will be glad to know that you're making sure of that we're doing our job."

"Right. Well then. I suppose I can let them know as much," he said, making his way to the door. "Mrs Weasley?"

"Go on before me, Mister Dyers. I have a few forms I need Auror Potter's signature on and I shall follow right after you," Hermione said with a smile.

Dyers left, muttering under his breath, and Hermione turned to Harry with a wide grin. "Did you see the look on his face when I suggested he should interrogate the suspect?"

"I'd completely forgotten about his faux pa back when he was an Auror," Harry said with a laugh as he sat back in his chair. "Never thought it'd still have that much of an effect on him, though. You really are terrible to use it against him like that, you know?"

Hermione shrugged, flipping her hair over her shoulder with a sniff. "I only reminded him of his place is all. What ' _we wouldn't even need the Auror department_ '? The gall."

Harry chortled and shook his head. Leave it to good ol' Hermione to teach an annoying colleague a lesson. "Just make sure he doesn't come to hate you too much. He's got a rather annoying personality, as you probably already know."

"Don't you lecture me on doing things in moderation," Hermione said with a huff, although she was still smiling. "Anyway, I really do need your signature on these," she continued as she handed him a few forms.

"I can't believe they're interfering again," Harry said with a sigh as he signed where she pointed.

"Well, they're worried about their image now that the Prophet has gotten word of such a large scale investigation taking place over what was once a closed case," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "PR is already going mad trying to deal with all the questions everybody's asking."

"Sometimes I'm glad that my job deals with risking my life in battle rather than in appeasing the commonfolk," Harry muttered as he handed the forms back.

Hermione smiled and patted his hand. "As much as I would love to stay and chat, Dyers is probably going to get suspicious if I don't head outside now."

"Right. Thanks, Hermione."

She flashed him a smile and spun on her heel. "Anything for you, my dear," she called over her shoulder with a little wave as she existed his office.

He chuckled and shook his head. Turning back to the reports on his desk, he had just picked one up when there were three short raps on the door. Looking up to see Buxley enter, he said, "They just keep coming and coming…"

"Hey, you were the one who asked to see me."

"I know, I know," Harry said, waving his hand. "Please tell me you've brought me something useful that I can rub in Dyers' pretty face the next time I see him."

"What was Blondie doing down here anyway? Doesn't he come here a little too often for someone who vowed to never return after his little incident?" Buxley asked as he flopped down in the chair Hermione had been sitting in with a grunt. "Probably needed a break from all the arse-licking, eh?" he said in answer to his own question as he tossed a sheaf of papers onto Harry's desk and pointed at them. "Anyway, I've got exactly what you're looking for."

Harry eagerly picked them up and skimmed through them, a grin growing on his face. "This is great," he said with a little sniffle. "Get Rogers and some men to scope out the warehouse and see what they find."

"Already on it. Although I sent McCardy instead since that's his territory and he would know the best stake-out locations."

Harry nodded. "Perfect. If things play out the way we want them to, we'll have this nicely wrapped in a big, red bow well in time for the holidays."

"Don't you go and jinx it, boss," Buxley said as he hefted himself out of the chair and took the papers from Harry. "But if things go as you want them to, it's going to be another long weekend for us."

"That it is," Harry said with a sigh, checking his watch. "Whoever said Head Aurors didn't have to do overtime was probably the same person that voted for Fudge to be Minister."

Buxley snorted. "Speaking of—head home already, will ya? You're practically dribbling snot all over the place. Disgusting."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I can just feel the extent of your concern."

His deputy grinned as he held the papers up and said, "Better get this to the boys. Don't want them missing out on important information and looking forward to the weekend."

"You know that Muggle children's story about the Grinch that stole Christmas?" Harry asked as he stood up and came around his desk.

"Yeah?"

Harry clapped Buxley on the shoulder as he plucked his coat off the stand. "You have him beat by a mile and then some."

"Thanks?" Buxley said, sounding confused, and Harry only grinned as they made their way out of the office.

* * *

 **7:23 PM**

He perked up at the familiar _pop_ of Apparition and eyed the drawing room doorway from his place behind the kitchen counter, awaiting his wife's arrival. Harry had, to his surprise and displeasure, arrived home earlier than Ginny only to find a note stuck to the fridge saying she had dropped the kids off at the Burrow for the weekend before heading out.

It had been nearly an hour since then, and he had lost track of the number of times he had nearly called her to find out where she was and what was taking her so long. When Ginny finally stepped into the room, hair windswept and face flushed from the cold, he had to stop himself from barraging her with questions.

"Hey," she said, spotting him as he came around the counter with a cup—originally his fourth cup—of piping hot tea. "You're home earlier than I expected," she said as she took the tea and thanked him.

He wanted to ask her why she had expected him to be home late but instead asked, "So, how was it?"

"Oh," she sighed, flopping down in his favourite armchair—something that Harry usually didn't mind but made him bristle just then—and sipped on her tea long and slow before answering. "You'll be surprised to know that Mathew was in my year back in Hogwarts."

Harry raised his eyebrows, indeed surprised. "Really?"

She nodded. "Yeah. A Puff, apparently. Him and Colin were friends."

He stiffened momentarily at the mention of Colin Creevey, buried memories threatening to re-surface, and cleared his throat as Ginny continued speaking, not noticing her husband's anguish. "I was surprised too, 'specially since I didn't remember him at all—something that was rather embarrassing to admit to him, mind you—but he took it well; said it was understandable, considering we had probably spoken only once or twice in all the years."

"And what about Dan?" Harry asked, not really in the mood to listen to Ginny go on about some fellow he could care less about.

"I left him with Mathew when I saw how gentle and caring he was. He seemed genuinely happy to see his nephew." Ginny shook her head. "Apparently he had lost contact with his sister ever since running away from home and didn't even know that she had gotten married and had a son, let alone that she had passed so tragically."

"Really," Harry said, his disbelief clear in his voice. "Despite the fact that it made the news?"

Ginny looked at him with a frown and pressed her lips together. "What're you on about?"

Harry waved a hand with a cough. "Nothing, go on."

Ginny eyed him suspiciously for a moment before continuing. "Well, anyway, apparently his mum finally got a hold of him a couple months back and he decided to go back and live with her since his father had passed on too and he was all his mother had left. Since neither of them knew that Meredith, Mathew's sister, had had a child—she apparently ran away to marry Greg because her parents disapproved of him—they're both thrilled to be able to see Dan and are more than willing to raise him and take care of him."

Harry nodded and inhaled past the block in his nose. "That's good. I'm glad Dan gets to go back to his family, who'll love and treasure him." And then he frowned and asked, "Wait, how did Dan take all of this? I'm sure he knows his father is under suspicion for a lot of things."

"Well…" Ginny trailed off with a shrug. "He hasn't really spoken much ever since you brought him home, so… He did willingly go with Mathew, so I reckon he'll be alright."

Harry massaged his forehead with a sigh. "Technically nothing is alright since Grant _is_ his biological parent and thus still has custody over him. It's probably going to be a long time before that family gets the peace of mind they deserve."

"Every family eventually gets the peace of mind they deserve," Ginny said, and Harry looked up, knowing exactly what she meant.

"I'm sorry," he said, not bothering to take a roundabout route to the inevitable. "For so many things. Ginny, I can't even begin—"

"Harry, don't," she said as she came to sit beside him. "Please don't say it like you regret everything that's ever happened between us."

He half-turned so he was facing her and looked deep into her eyes as a lump formed in his throat. "But if I'd done things differently—"

"Nothing would change. Or everything would change. Either way, we've been through so much together; don't let's start dissecting our relationship now, so many years later, and start pinning the blame on each other for things that are well in the past."

Her eyes glistened with tears, but that didn't stop the voice in the back of Harry's mind from saying that it sounded like she was referring to something very specific. "Even then," he urged, "I've said some things that I shouldn't have said, and although I can't take them back, I want to at least apologise for them."

Ginny was looking at him in a way that made him feel naked and exposed; as though she was looking straight into his soul, past all his darkest secrets and regrets. Staring into her eyes just then reminded him of how he had fallen in love with the depth of emotion in them and just how clear and uncensored her thoughts and feelings were, reflected in those chocolate-coloured orbs.

"Thank you for your honesty," she finally said with a small smile, reaching up to brush her fingers through his hair. "I am too. And now we that we've gotten past this, can we please put it behind us and move forwards? As we always have?"

She leaned forwards and he let her pull him into her embrace even as the voice in his head said bitterly, _Is that all you have to say to me? Is there nothing at all you want to apologise for?_

 _To be fair,_ he told the voice, _she did apologise._

 _Did she? Does 'I am too' count as an apology?_

Harry paused as Ginny buried her face in the crook of his neck with a sigh. Did she? Had she actually said the words _I'm sorry_? Wracking his brain, he thought back to their conversation two days ago and tried to recollect if she had.

 _Does it even matter?_ He thought when he couldn't remember. _It's all right now. It's over._

The voice in his head didn't say anything in reply, but the nagging feeling in the back of his mind remained.

Was it really going to be all right?

* * *

 **A/n: Ok so I know a lot of things happened in this chapter and I hope that you guys don't mind the length. Let me know in a review if you would prefer the chapters to be shorter or if you don't mind them being slightly longer. Not that I can really promise consistency lol since it wholly depends on how fast/slow things are going or how much is happening, but I can still pace it in a way that you guys would prefer reading.**

 **Also, and I know you all know this by now but I wanted to mention it again, I know investigations don't happen as smoothly, methodically or efficiently as they do in this story, or TV shows for that matter, but considering it's fiction I suppose it can be overlooked.**

 **Do review and let me know what you thought of this super long chapter!**

 **P.S. I wanted to say a special thank you to all the people who have reviewed, followed and favourited this story in the past week (and so far, of course), you guys forced me to stop procrastinating and sit down and get this done. My muse needs to be resurrected. xD**

 **P.P.S. Is it just me or are the simplest and most mundane things that Ginny does slowly starting to get under Harry's skin? The cracks were already there, you guys, and he's finally starting to see them. Also, how do you feel about the Ginny/Astoria friendship? I'm starting to get some Other Woman vibes from them lol (for those of you that haven't watched the movie, go watch it. It's hilarious.)**

 **Thank you for reading and bearing with my unnecessarily long author's notes. You guys are the best!**

 **Arty xx**


	36. 36 Lies: Sudden Turn of Events

**Chapter 36**

 **Sudden Turn of Events**

* * *

 **[December 2 2011]**

 **12:16 PM**

Harry had taken a larger dose of the cold tonic than usual before going to bed—due to various reasons—and it had knocked him out for a good twelve hours. When he had woken up, however, his nose had cleared up and the itch in his throat had subsided quite a bit. He was well rested and more than glad that he was in better shape to take on the upcoming weekend—Merlin knew he would need every ounce of energy he had to get through it.

When he had called Ginny, who had gone to her office to wrap up some things with regards to her tournament coverage, she told him that Arthur and Molly had offered to pick the kids up from preschool and take them to London for the day. She had also told him to take the day off to recuperate, but he had refused. The DMLE was already breathing down his neck to get things done; the last thing he needed was for them to give him trouble for taking a sick leave at such a crucial time.

He eyed the clock over the mantle as he sipped his tea, wondering how Draco was doing. Too many things had happened the previous day, so he hadn't found the time to check on the blond. _I'm sure he's fine,_ Harry told himself as the hot tea scalded his itchy throat. _He's seen worse._

But that didn't stop him from wanting to see the man any less. Shaking his head, he willed himself to get up and get dressed without letting his thoughts wander to Draco every few minutes. He knew that the longer he let himself think about the blond, the deeper he would fall into the abyss that was their undefined relationship. It was wholly unfair to Draco for Harry to act on his half-hearted impulses and desires—especially since Draco had made it rather clear as to where he stood with regards to them.

Thus, Harry had reached a conclusion: he would try to restrict his contact with Draco to that of Mind Healer and client, and friends, of course, until he had sorted out his feelings and thoughts. It wasn't fair on his part to lead Draco on without knowing for sure what it was that he, Harry, really wanted—especially after that night.

 _Easier said than done,_ his mind supplied helpfully, and he couldn't disagree. Even before, back in their Hogwarts days, Draco and Harry had been drawn to each other inexplicably, whether they wanted it or not. Although they had strayed away from one other for well over a decade, now that they had finally reconnected—and in a way they never had before—Harry knew that no matter what he did, he would end up crossing paths with Draco.

It was something that he thought was inevitable, and the fact that he thought so made him question a lot of things that he didn't have the answers to.

Of all those thoughts, however, the one that was at the forefront just then was what Draco had said the other day. The thing about neither of them being the kind to break up their families for something that neither could explain nor understand completely.

And immediately after it came the thought: _but what if we didn't have to break our families up? What if we could have the cake and eat it too?_

Harry stared at the fireplace in his study, gripping a fistful of Floo powder, as he stood lost in thought. The grains were digging into his palm, and he knew they would leave marks on his skin from how tight he was clenching his fist, but he couldn't have cared less. Shaking himself out of his daze, he threw down the shimmering green powder and ducked under the mantel.

"Ministry of Magic," he said in a somewhat nasal voice, hoping that he had been clear enough. Closing his eyes as the world whirled around him, he opened them only once he felt solid ground beneath his feet.

He stepped out of the Floo, nodding to whoever greeted him with a small smile as he made his way across the atrium to the lifts. He managed to slip into a rather crowded lift just as the doors were closing. Smiling awkwardly at the wizard he was pressed up against, Harry hoped against hope that he wouldn't be spoken to.

"Afternoon," the fellow said, much to Harry's chagrin. "Late start today?"

Harry muttered a vague reply as he waited impatiently for the voice to announce his floor. The moment it did, he all but tumbled out of the lift, speed walking down the hallway before anybody could stop him for a chat.

"I'm here," he announced as he strode into the Auror Office, getting greetings from the Aurors who had heard him. He spotted Buxley and Rogers near the break room, deep in conversation with McCardy and Hunt. Striding over to the foursome, he nodded as they greeted him and asked, "So, what'd I miss?"

He hoped it was nothing serious, but from the way the four men glanced at each other, he knew that wasn't the case. Buxley was the first to speak. "McCardy's men found something last night when they were scoping out the warehouse," he said, turning to the man in question.

"We spotted a group of black-clad people transporting something to the warehouse in the dead of night," McCardy said, his voice grave. "It was far too dark to make out faces, especially since their cloaks were hooded, so we had no choice but to wait until they left to go see what they had brought in." He paused, glancing towards Buxley, as though asking for permission to continue. When Buxley nodded, McCardy cleared his throat and said, "It was cloudy and even our night-vision equipment didn't help much, so we miscalculated the number of people that had entered and left the warehouse. When we went in, we found that some had remained behind, probably to secure the place and stand guard." He paused again and shrugged. "There were three of them and six of us, so we thought the obvious course of action was to subdue them and find out what was in the underground vault they were guarding."

"Did you manage to capture them?" Harry asked, his heart beginning to race, and McCardy shared a look with the others before shaking his head.

"While we did ambush them and succeeded in tying them up, we didn't anticipate that they would go so far as to silence themselves when they realised they had no means of escape."

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh. "How?"

"Poison shards around their necks."

"This makes no sense," Harry said, ruffling his hair. "What is it that these people are up to that they would go so far as to take their own lives instead of giving up information?"

Rogers held up a clipboard that had photographs pinned to it, his expression sombre. Harry flipped through the pictures with a frown. They were grainy and of rather poor quality, owing to the fact that there was little to no light in the vault. "What is all this?"

"The thing that you thought was their true motive behind the vandalism facade," Rogers said in a low voice. "Dark artefacts."

Harry looked up, a chill running down his spine. There were more than a dozen pictures with several objects in each. Just the thought of so many artefacts imbued with Dark Magic in one place made his blood run cold.

"This adds up with our cult theory," Buxley said as Harry processed the information. "We don't know how or why these people have amassed so many Dark artefacts, nor do we know what their purpose is, but I daresay it's nothing short of disastrous."

Harry closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, his mind running a mile a minute. Finally he looked up at McCardy and asked, "What of the bodies?"

"They're in the morgue. We're trying to glean as much information from them as possible."

"And your men?"

"Still staking out the warehouse."

"Any updates?"

"Nothing yet."

Harry nodded and turned to the rest. "So we can assume that either the rest of the perpetrators haven't yet realised that three of their men are missing, or they're onto us and are waiting to make a move. At this point we have no choice but to wait it out, I suppose." He turned back to McCardy. "What about the artefacts?"

"We're securing them and in order to bring them back."

"No, leave them where they are," Harry said, handing the clipboard back to Rogers. "We first need to confirm that they are _all_ indeed Dark artefacts before figuring out how much Dark Magic they contain and how dangerous they are. It'll do us more harm than good to bring so many Dark objects anywhere near the Ministry."

McCardy and Hunt nodded. "We'll assign more men to guard the warehouse, then."

"Is that wise?" Harry asked, turning to Buxley. "While there's a definite chance that they're waiting for us to make a move to ambush us, is it a good idea to be so obvious about it?"

"How does it matter at this point?" Buxley said. "It's already all over the news that we're directing all our attention to this case. They know that they've got our full attention and I'm sure they have precautions set up. Our best course of action would be to get things done as quickly as possible. The longer we dilly-dally, the longer they have to strike back at us."

Harry nodded. Buxley was right; they had to move now.

"But we need time to examine the artefacts," Rogers said, his voice tense. "We don't exactly have all that many people who are proficient with Dark Magic and Dark objects to get through them so quickly. Especially if we're going to keep them in the warehouse, we're going to need them to be fast and efficient."

"How many people have we got down there?" Harry asked.

"Around three or four who know what they're doing along with an assistant or two."

"That's barely enough," Harry muttered, biting his thumbnail. "Do we have anybody who can at least identify Dark Magic and artefacts, if not gauge how dangerous they are or analyse them further?"

Rogers nodded. "I'm quite sure there are people who are at least able to do that much. I mean, a few of us Aurors ourselves are able to identify Dark Magic and Dark objects—that's how we got the information in the first place."

Harry nodded. "Then get anybody who can help down there. I'll see if I can get someone who knows more from outside."

"This has to be contained," Buxley reminded Harry. "We don't want to create widespread panic and agitate people more than we already have."

"We can trust them," Harry said, an image of Draco and Zabini flashing through his mind. "Besides, I reckon they would prefer it if nobody knew what they were up to."

"Alright then. How soon can they make it?"

"As soon as I can get into contact with them," Harry said, already planning out what he would say to Draco. "Rogers, I want you to round up everyone who can offer any sort of assistance to our team already down there. Be sure to clarify with them exactly what sort of help the ones we send should be able to offer. We don't want to spread this any thinner than we already have."

"Yessir!"

"You two," Harry said to McCardy and Hunt. "Scatter your men as far around the warehouse as you can and see if you can get them to put up a tracing net. It would make things immensely simpler if we were able to tell as soon as anybody enters the vicinity of the warehouse. I'm hoping your men are capable of such advanced magic?"

Both men seemed unsure but nodded nonetheless. "We'll make it happen, boss."

"Good. Now go."

All three raced away, leaving Harry alone with Buxley. "Who is it that you know who can help us with Dark Magic?" Buxley asked, a suspicious frown on his face.

"Don't ask questions whose answers you don't want to know," Harry said before making his way to his office.

He locked the door behind him and made a beeline towards the fireplace. Tossing in a pinch of Floo powder, he stuck his head in and muttered, "Draco Malfoy's office, Antares," hoping the blond was there.

The fire sizzled and hissed, spitting out little bursts of green every now and then. A few moments later, the flames settled, and Draco's face appeared. "Harry? Where are you calling from?"

"The Ministry," Harry said. "Listen, I'm in a bit of a pinch and urgently need your help."

Draco's brows furrowed in concern. "Of course. What can I do?"

Harry hesitated for a second before asking, "Is Zabini still in town?"

"He should be," Draco replied, a dubious expression on his face. "Why?"

"You said he's proficient at identifying Dark artefacts and such, didn't you?"

Draco blanched, and Harry heard the blond'sharp intake of breath as Draco pressed his lips together before asking, "What is this about?"

"What I'm about to tell you is highly confidential and I would prefer if we did this face to face. Would you rather I come down there or…?"

"I'll open up the Floo," Draco said before his head disappeared from the fireplace.

Harry bit back a sigh, his heart still thundering a rhythm in his chest, and pulled his head out. Waiting for a moment, he rose to his feet and watched as the flames flickered and crackled before shooting all the way up. Harry stepped into the Floo, reorganising his thoughts as he travelled to Draco's office.

He stepped out to see Draco standing before him with crossed arms and a frown on his face. "I hope you're not getting me into something dangerous again," the blond said, to which Harry laughed dryly.

"Trust me when I say that I wouldn't be here if it was something I could take care of on my own." When Draco motioned to the sofa, Harry hesitated a moment before nodding and taking a seat in his usual armchair. He inhaled deeply and looked up into intense, stormy eyes. "So here's what this is about…"

* * *

 **2:17 PM**

"What did he say?" Harry asked as Draco returned from his phone call with Zabini.

"We managed to catch him just in time; he's on his way to the airport. He has a flight to Denmark for a conference in a few hours. He said he'll call me back to confirm."

"Is he alright to miss something so important?"

Draco shrugged. "This is more important, isn't it?"

Harry nodded, shifting in his seat. He could tell that Draco's conversation with Zabini had been rather tense from the furrow in the blond's brow and his pursed lips.

"I'm sorry for involving you in something like this again," Harry said, feeling guilty.

Draco sighed, not bothering to conceal his annoyance like he usually would. "To be perfectly honest, I would have refused if it were anybody else who had asked."

Harry straightened up at that, his heart thudding against his chest. Draco shot him a look sideways. "And, honestly, I don't know how I feel about me being the first person you thought of when it came to being able to understand and identify Dark Magic."

"Tha—That's not," Harry began, but Draco waved him off.

"It's fine. I can't really blame you, considering you were right to come to me." Draco refused to meet Harry's eyes, and that left a bad taste in Harry's mouth. Had he made a mistake coming to the blond after all? "I just don't want any unnecessary attention," Draco continued. "Both Blaise and I have been very careful with regards to whom or what we associate with for obvious reasons. We've successfully managed to keep a low profile all these years, and I don't want one decision I made because I wanted to help you to ruin everything we've worked so hard for." He finally turned to look at Harry. "I really hope I don't come to regret this—not just for my sake or yours, but Blaise's, too."

Harry's stomach dropped, and he mentally berated himself for not thinking things through more. Draco had become Harry's go-to for nearly everything of late that Harry had forgotten there were certain things the blond preferred not to get involved in. It was quickly becoming obvious to him that he had started to rely on Draco far too much recently—to the extent that the blond was the first person he thought of whenever he was in a pinch, or for anything, really.

His guilt forming a knot in his stomach, he rose to walk around the table and sat down beside Draco. After a moment's hesitation, Harry reached for Draco's hand and intertwined their fingers. The blond eyed their clasped hands with a blank expression on his face but didn't pull away.

"You don't have to do this," Harry said softly. "I'm sorry that I came to you without taking your position into consideration more. I just thought—"

"I know," Draco interrupted, his voice sharp. He inhaled deeply before saying, "I know," again in a softer voice. He then looked up to meet Harry's eyes with a small smile. "I know you didn't mean to offend me or put me in a difficult position."

"I really didn't—"

"But, Harry, I would like it if you were to consider things more before you immediately come running to me from next time."

Harry's breath caught in his throat and he swallowed thickly. Although he had come to the same realisation on his own, it still stung when Draco said it so directly. He made to pull away, but Draco tightened his grip on Harry's fingers.

"Don't get me wrong," he said as Harry stared at their hands. "It makes me happy that I'm the first person you think of when you're in need, but I don't want you to make a habit of this. I don't think my constant facilitation of the idea that I have a solution to all your problems is a good thing—as your Mind Healer or otherwise."

"How ironic," Harry said, his voice choked. "Just this morning I was thinking that we should keep our relationship as just Mind Healer and client, and here you are, saying the exact same thing."

He saw Draco stiffen from the corner of his eyes and the blond's grasp on his hand loosened. Harry looked up to see wide eyes brimming with emotion, and he felt a lump form in his throat. "You were thinking that?" Draco asked, his voice soft.

Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak. "I didn't—I didn't want something like this—" he made a vague gesture with his free hand, "—to happen. And in the end, I'm the one who couldn't stick to my own decision."

"Harry," Draco said, tightening his grip once again, his voice firm. "I don't want you to mistake what I said. Our relationship is a complicated one, considering I am not only your Mind Healer, but also your friend, and…" he trailed off, leaving whatever else they were hanging in the air—much like their relationship.

"Yeah…"

"But there's one thing that's common for all of those things: I only have your best interests in mind. And what's best for you is making sure that you don't grow to be so dependent on me."

"Why?" Harry asked, unable to look away from Draco's eyes that were like liquid silver. "What's wrong with depending on you? I would want you to come to me with your problems as much as I do to you with mine."

Draco shook his head, a sad smile on his face. "But I don't think I can do that."

Harry felt his chest tighten. "Why not?" he asked. "Do you—not trust me?"

"You, I trust completely. It's me that I don't trust," Draco said, and Harry could see that he was speaking the truth. He hesitated to continue, and Harry had to squeeze his hand to urge him. Harry wasn't really used to speaking about his feelings so openly, so he was sure Draco wasn't either, which was what furthered Harry's belief that their presence in each other's lives was important.

"I don't know if I could just return to what I used to be a few months ago if you were to…" Draco trailed off again with a little shrug.

"If I were to what?" Harry asked, his voice forceful. Did Draco expect him to just wake up one day and decide that he was going to cut the blond out of his life? _There's no way in hell I'm capable of that at this point,_ Harry thought bitterly. _I'm in this way too deep._

Draco shook his head and looked away. "Forget I said anything. This isn't the time for such a conversation."

"There's never a time for something like this," Harry said, squeezing Draco's hand so tight that the blond winced.

"Harry, you're hurting me—"

"I know."

Draco looked at him, his lips slightly parted as he tried to decipher the meaning behind Harry's words. "I know," Harry said again as he loosened his grip.

He would have said, 'If you want me to go, I will,' or something along those lines, but less dramatic, just to hear Draco say, 'No, I don't want that,' but he couldn't do it. Their relationship was so very precariously balanced; one nudge could send it teetering over the edge. Harry couldn't risk that. This time, he didn't want to mess up as he had before with his indecisive and procrastinating ways. This time, he _couldn't._ That was how much Draco had come to mean to him.

"I really don't understand you," Draco muttered, and Harry nodded with a sigh.

"I don't understand me either, but I'm trying. I really am."

Draco shook his head ever so slowly, a wistful expression on his face. "Sometimes I wonder if we were better off before, when things were so much simpler."

"I wonder that too, constantly," Harry admitted. "But I'm glad that things are as they are. I would've never come to see so many different sides of you that I never even knew existed if they weren't."

Draco smiled that gentle smile of his that always had Harry tripping over himself as he said, "I'm glad too."

They sat in silence for a moment, and Harry's gaze slipped down to fix on Draco's lips. He leaned forwards instinctively, feeling that the moment was right, but was interrupted by Draco's phone going off. The blond seemed embarrassed and let go of Harry's hand as he fumbled to answer the call. Harry sat watching him, feeling a sense of loss as the cool air hit his sweaty palm.

"Hello? Blaise?"

Harry was snapped out of his daze as he heard Zabini's muffled voice on the phone. Draco nodded and hummed in assent to whatever his friend was saying, and after a moment, turned to Harry and asked, "You just need Blaise and me to come down to this place and take a look at the artefacts, correct?"

"Yep."

Draco returned his attention to the call. "Alright, so then—what? Yes, Blaise, he's here. What do you mean is he going to be there when you arrive?" Draco frowned. "Obviously, Blaise. Do you know where this place is?" He rolled his eyes after listening to Zabini speak for a moment. "I already told you how he knows about Antares—no, what? Blaise, stop being ridiculous and get your arse down here. Harry won't jump you, for Salazar's sake."

Zabini continued to say something, but Draco simply cut the call with a scoff. Turning to Harry, he said, "Sorry 'bout that. Blaise is still miffed about having to cancel his trip on such short notice."

"I'll bet he isn't too thrilled to have to help me analyse Dark artefacts either," Harry added matter-of-factly, to which Draco only sighed.

"I don't really blame him for being upset, but I didn't think he would react so strongly to you being here when he arrived."

Harry rose to his feet and ran a hand through his hair. "Well, if he would prefer that I'm not here, then that's doable."

"No, Harry, you don't have to—"

"I've given you both enough trouble as it is," Harry said as he pulled on his coat. "Besides, I reckon you're going to have to placate him and convince him that this isn't a terrible idea—in which case me being here may not help too much."

Draco nodded, and Harry felt a slight twinge at Draco so readily agreeing for Harry to leave for Zabini's sake. _Don't be such a pansy,_ he scolded himself as he Summoned a piece of parchment and a quill from Draco's desk and jotted down the warehouse's location. "I'll have someone meet you and update you on what's going on when you arrive. I'm guessing the team that's examining the artefacts has shifted location to somewhere nearby by now, so you may not have to enter the warehouse to take a look at them."

"Right, thanks," Draco said as he took the address from Harry.

Harry paused at the fireplace for a moment, debating whether or not to do what he wanted to do. He took one look at Draco's face, muttered a, "Screw it," and leaned forwards to press his lips against the blond's. He started to pull away a moment later, but Draco leaned in towards him, and Harry reached up to cup the blond's cheek with his hand as he deepened the kiss.

After a moment, they pulled apart, and Harry stroked Draco's cheek—that was flushed and warm to the touch—lightly with his thumb as he swore. "Well shite."

The blond's lips were moist from the kiss and were slightly parted. His irises were a stormy grey, and when he exhaled, Harry could feel the hot breath on his face. He swallowed thickly. This was not good.

"I—uh—should go," he stammered as he dropped his hand and grabbed a fistful of Floo powder with the other, upturning the bowl in the process and spilling the powder onto the floor.

Draco waved his wand and returned the powder and bowl to their place, an amused smile on his face. "Are you alright?" he asked, making Harry flush with embarrassment.

"Peachy," he replied as he turned to the fireplace. Just as he raised his foot, however, green flames shot up, and a wizard in a dark cloak and hat stepped out.

He raised his head to reveal that he was Zabini, and Draco and Harry stood awkwardly as Zabini looked from one to the other, an unamused expression on his face.

Harry cleared his throat after a moment and nodded to Draco. "I best be leaving, then. Call my cell if you find locating the place to be difficult."

"Ah, I don't think I have your number," the blond said as he stared down at his phone.

"I have yours," Harry said. Astoria had given it to him the first time he had gone to the Manor in case of an emergency. He hadn't wanted to admit it then, but he had been thrilled to have gotten hold of Draco's cell phone number without having to go through the awkward process of finding a way to ask the blond. "Let me ring you so you can save it."

He pulled out his phone and clicked a few buttons to find Draco's number. He pressed the call button and waited until Draco nodded to cut the call. "Well," Harry said, turning to Zabini with his usual, professional Auror smile on his face. "Thank you for accepting to help at such short notice. I appreciate it."

Zabini simply nodded and gave him a once-over before spinning on his heel and making his way to the sofas. Harry and Draco shared a look before Harry threw down the Floo powder and ducked under the mantel. "I'll see you in a bit," he told Draco, who smiled genially at him.

"See you."

Harry inhaled and spoke his destination clearly, closing his eyes as the flames enveloped him. He could still see Draco's flushed face in his mind, and it sent a tingle down his spine when he remembered their kiss.

 _Ah, hell,_ he thought as the familiar nausea of the Floo swept over him. Here he was, pretending like he couldn't put a finger to what he felt for the blond, when it was clear to the both of them that Harry had already fallen head over heels for Draco.

 _There's no reason to deny it at this point, is there?_ he wondered as he stepped into his office.

* * *

 **4:53 PM**

"As far as we could tell, these ones here aren't as dangerous as those," one of the witches who had come to examine the artefacts told Harry as she motioned to two sets of objects.

"So their size has nothing to do with how much Dark Magic they contain?" Harry asked. He had been sure that the larger objects would be more dangerous.

The witch shook her head. "No, size doesn't matter. What matters is how old the artefacts are. These ones here," she gestured towards the pile closest to her, "are barely a year or two old. Where as those ones there," she pointed to a few objects that had been placed within a barrier, "are at least half a century old, if I'm not mistaken. I can't tell you the exact age of the artefacts, but I can assure you that they are old enough that the Dark Magic in them has been reinforced several times over the years, thus making those a much stronger conductor than these ones."

"Were you able to gauge which artefacts are older and more powerful than the rest?" Harry asked.

The witch pursed her lips. "Well, as you can see, we have analysed the ones that are here, but it's taking much longer than we anticipated, and there's barely any room to work in that cramped vault. It would be preferable to move them out here so we can take a better look, but we don't know what can set them off—especially since we're not really trained for this; we have only ever observed and studied them under laboratory conditions before. These ones were at the very top and we only removed them after ensuring that they wouldn't blow somebody's head off."

"There are two more people arriving who should be able to help you," Harry said with a smile. The witch nodded and thanked him before turning to the Auror that had brought more artefacts for her to examine.

"Sir," Rogers called, jogging over to where Harry was. "We have a situation."

They moved away from where the examination team was at work and Harry asked, "What's happened now?"

"Hunt's Patronus just arrived to inform us that someone tripped the tracing net near his location."

"Did they manage to find the person?"

"That's the problem, sir," Rogers said. "The net wasn't as well-cast as it should've been, and we can't tell how much time has passed since the person set it off."

"Shite," Harry swore, rubbing the back of his neck. He had been worried this would happen, but he had trusted that McCardy and Hunt would be able to control things well enough even if their men's spell work wasn't that advanced. _Can't really blame them; the area they have to cover is fairly large._ "Do we have an update on the situation?"

"Hunt said they could trace the person to a little ways off from the farthest point of where the net was cast, where they assume the person exited the nest. There was apparently no sign of anybody having come any closer to the warehouse. It's almost as though whoever entered the nest simply did so to see if we've set up any sort of trap to apprehend the intruder."

Harry glanced towards the examination team's workstation, a nagging feeling tugging at the back of his mind. His instincts were telling him something was amiss; that the people they were dealing with were far smarter than they were being given credit for. It was almost as though they were purposely making mistakes to send Harry and his men on a wild goose chase in order to find a way to go around their defences.

"This isn't working," Harry said, gnawing on his thumbnail in thought. "I want you to get the Aurors here to set up a barrier around the perimeter. It's a rather extreme measure that will give us more trouble than we need right now, but we can't take the risk of letting these people slip by under our noses. They've outsmarted us quite a few times already, and the last thing we need is for them to get their hands on the artefacts."

Rogers nodded. "Yessir."

Harry watched him make his way towards the Aurors standing guard a little further away, the nagging feeling still present. "What will you do next?" he murmured as he turned in a slow circle, his eyes scanning the abandoned buildings around the desolate area. There were far too many variables that were out of his control, and he simply couldn't shake off the feeling that he was overlooking something important.

"Sir!" someone called, and Harry looked over his shoulder to see an Auror escorting Draco and Zabini to him.

He nodded to the Auror, who left them to return to his post, and Harry smiled at the two men. "Thank you again for coming." He motioned towards the witch he had just been speaking to. "This is Wendy; she's here to help us examine the artefacts as well. She'll be here to assist you."

Draco opened his mouth to say something, when a Patronus—Hunt's, Harry immediately recognised from its shape—came gambolling over to him. It perched on his shoulder, and Hunt's voice echoed in his ear. "There have been multiple breaches in the perimeter of the net; there are more intruders than we expected. My men and McCardy's men are holding them down as best as we can, but we can't tell for sure how many got through. They're most definitely heading your way so please stay alert."

Harry bellowed for Rogers as Hunt's voice had started to speak, and the man paled as the report came to an end. "The barrier?" Harry asked urgently as he looked around, counting the number of non-Aurors who were present.

"We still need time, sir. It's too large an area to cover so quickly."

"Send a Patronus to Buxley," he said to Rogers before turning to Wendy. "Gather all of your team. I want you stay here and not move. Put up a shield and stay within it at all costs. We can't have them taking the artefacts from us."

Wendy immediately sprang to action, and Harry yelled for two of the closest Aurors. "Stand guard here. I give you full freedom to take action as you see fit."

They nodded and got into position, and Harry motioned for Draco and Zabini to follow him as he headed towards the warehouse.

"This is why I was against this whole thing," Harry overheard Zabini mutter to Draco, and Harry couldn't help but agree. He had expected the perpetrators to make a move, but he had neither expected them to rally so quickly, nor had he expected them to come in such a large number. It was almost as though they were functioning as one organism, working together efficiently without allowing any room for error.

"Buxley," Harry barked as they moved towards where the vault was. "Get all non-Aurors inside that vault and seal it up. Now."

"That may not be such a good idea," Draco said from behind him, "especially if there are as many Dark artefacts in there as you said there were. We don't know what can set them off."

"You don't have to worry about them going off," Harry said as he ushered them towards the vault. "If these guys are after the artefacts, I'm sure they know not to cause an explosion of Dark Magic that has enough destructive power as a nuclear bomb. That defeats the purpose of them trying to retrieve the artefacts."

Zabini and Draco shared a look, and to Harry's surprise, it was Zabini that agreed to his line of reasoning. "He's right; we're safer in there with those Dark objects than out here, where we could potentially be killed."

"They're all in," one of the Aurors called. "Preparing to seal the vault!"

"Wait—"

"Leave it," Draco said, grabbing Harry's arm. "Going from your men's report, your short on manpower. We could help—"

"You are doing no such thing," Harry said fiercely as he all but dragged Draco towards the vault. "I am not letting you fight. Absolutely not."

"Did you honestly bring us here thinking that we didn't know it was dangerous?" Draco snapped, tugging his arm out of Harry's grip. "I've fought in a bloody war and survived; taking down a bunch of maniacs shouldn't be that much harder."

"Sorry, but I have no intentions of dying—or ruining my new suit," Zabini said, turning to speak to the Aurors who were shutting the vault.

"Draco," Harry urged, but the blond was adamant. "There's no time to be stubborn; I need you to get in there."

Before Draco could argue any further, a loud _bang_ sounded, and they all turned to look out of the warehouse windows, watching as the shield charm around it shuddered as spell after spell rained down on it.

"It won't hold out against that many spellcasters," Buxley yelled from across the large room, and Harry nodded.

"Take battle positions! We're hitting them before they get to us!"

Aurors Disapparated from where they were and appeared on the ramp above Harry, positioned by the windows, their wands pointed outside. "Take aim!" one of them men shouted as Harry shoved Draco towards Zabini.

The blond began to protest, but before he could speak, Harry nodded to the two Aurors standing on top of the vault, and they cast a barrier around it. "If you want to help," Harry yelled to Draco, "then keep that shield up at all costs!"

He spun on the spot without waiting for the blond to react and Apparated to where his men were firing curses at the enemies. Harry joined in, watching as a hex hit a black-robed figure square in the chest. The person fell over and remained unmoving for a moment before getting back to their feet. The hood had fallen back to reveal a grey, faceless creature, and a shudder ran down Harry's spine. Whatever the thing was, it was most definitely not human.

Beside him, Buxley echoed his thoughts. "What the bloody hell is going on?"

* * *

 **A/n: Whoop, cliffhanger! I thought it was about time I had one :3 Sorry not sorry lol.**

 **In other, better news, Harry finally realises he's in love with Draco! I mean, about damn time, Potter. _Everybody_ knew it except for you. His cluelessness is his characteristic trait, isn't it? Can't help but adore the fellow.**

 **I speed-wrote this one and was absolutely determined to post it today because I start working full time from tomorrow (as a substitute and assistant teacher in a special school! I'm super excited because I've been interning there for 2 months already and I adore the kids to bits) and I don't know how much time I'm going to have to write- which is rather upsetting since I already have the next chapter all planned out in my head. Here's to hoping the weekends come sooner!**

 **Wish me luck!**

 **Thank you for reading, following and favouriting this story! Don't forget to leave a review and let me know what you thought about this chapter!**

 **P.S. Don't you find Blaise's snarkiness to be super endearing? I want to write him more.**

 **Lots of love,**

 **Arty xx**


	37. 37 Lies: Fragile Balance

**Chapter 37**

 **Fragile Balance**

* * *

 ** _Recap:_**

 _He spun on the spot without waiting for the blond to react and Apparated to where his men were firing curses at the enemies. Harry joined in, watching as a hex hit a black-robed figure square in the chest. The person fell over and remained unmoving for a moment before getting back to their feet. The hood had fallen back to reveal a grey, faceless creature, and a shudder ran down Harry's spine. Whatever the thing was, it was most definitely not human._

 _Beside him, Buxley echoed his thoughts. "What the bloody hell is going on?"_

* * *

 **[December 2 2011]**

 **6:56 PM**

Harry shot another spell at the creatures, knocking one over to reveal its repelling facelessness. There was a loud _bam_ from below, and the metal support structure they were standing on shuddered.

"They're trying to break in!" someone yelled, but Harry was distracted by the Patronus that sprung through the windows and landed on his shoulder.

"Status report," Hunt's voice bellowed into Harry's ear. "The creatures seem to be life-size puppets of sorts animated through Dark Magic. Normal spells don't seem to work on them; they simply get back on their feet. They broke through our forces with sheer physical force, leaving behind quite a few casualties. They're headed your way, and we're chasing them down, but none of our spells seem to be doing much damage."

Harry and Buxley shared a look as the Patronus dissolved, and Buxley said, "What sort of puppets are able to cast spells?"

"The human sort," Harry answered, tightening his grip on his wand. A thought was running through his mind with regards to what Hunt had said about normal spells not working on the puppets, but he was wary.

"You look like you have an idea," Buxley said, glancing at him sideways as he twisted his wrist and decimated a puppet.

"Might be a dangerous one."

Buxley snorted. "More dangerous than letting these things near the Dark artefacts?"

"Fair point," Harry said before throwing an exploding jinx at a puppet. The support structure shuddered again, and Harry inhaled deeply. "If there are witches and wizards using the puppets as decoys to enter the warehouse, then they're going to steer clear of my spell. I want you to use that split second of confusion to turn the tables on them."

Buxley eyed Harry for a moment before saying, "Don't you get us killed, boss." He turned to address the Aurors on his left. Harry nodded to the Aurors on his right and Disapparated. Appearing halfway in between the wall that the puppets were breaking down and the vault, he half-turned and yelled over his shoulder, "Don't let that shield down no matter what!"

Appearing halfway in between the wall that the puppets were breaking down and the vault, he half-turned and yelled over his shoulder, "Don't let that shield down no matter what!"

Hearing the "Yessir!" he glanced up to see Buxley looking down at him and nodded. His deputy spun around and bellowed, "Get ready, men!"

Harry spread his feet apart and took a wide stance. Pushing his shoulders back, he inhaled deeply and closed his eyes, focusing all his senses on his magical reserves. As he steadied his breathing, he could feel the sweat dripping down his forehead and the tenseness of his muscles. He was tired enough that he was sure his magic wouldn't get the better of him, but he was still energetic enough that he knew he wouldn't have too much trouble controlling it even if it did.

Taking in another deep breath, he focused on the magic coursing through his veins, concentrating all of his senses on the magical energy and directing it towards his wand. Being able to feel the power flowing within you was one of the very first and most basic things that Aurors were taught during their training. Through the years, Harry had not only come to realise the importance of it, but he had also come to understand the vast difference between simply being able to cast a spell and being able to _control_ it.

And control was definitely one of the major prerequisites for the spell he was about to cast.

His mind and body had slowed down and reached a state of calmness where the sounds around him had become muted and the smallest of sensations had intensified. He opened his eyes, and everything around him was happening as though in slow motion. His usually turbulent mind was empty of thoughts, and his attention was focused completely on the task at hand.

Raising his arms, he moved them in perfect synchrony with each other, his wand a conductor's baton to the symphony of his magic. He watched, unmoving, as the wall before him shattered and the puppets brought to life with Dark Magic bombarded their way into the warehouse. A small piece of rubble flew past him and cut his cheek, but he didn't register the pain. All of his senses were focused solely on the magical energy flowing into his wand, ready to burst forth at his command.

He waited, patient, until the puppets flew past him towards the vault, and he brought his arms down, the incantation leaving his lips in a voiceless whisper.

The Fiendfyre exploded from the tip of his wand with a bang louder than when the wall had shattered, surging around him and engulfing every moving thing within its flaming embrace. The chimaera screeched and roared as it morphed from one form to the next, and Harry brought his arms together in an excruciatingly slow motion, all of his energy going into controlling the beast he had unleashed.

There were pained yells and fearful shouts as the witches and wizards hiding amongst the puppets jumped away before the gigantic eagle swallowed them up in its open beak. Harry belatedly registered multiple _pops_ of Apparition, and Buxley and the others appeared just inside the gaping hole in the warehouse's wall, multiple duels instantly breaking out between friend and foe.

Harry could sense every time his spell swallowed up a puppet's Dark Magic and added it to its own, and he had to force the Fiendfyre down in order to be able to rein it in. It was drawing more out of him than he had thought it would, and he gritted his teeth and dug his heels into the concrete, intent on keeping the flaming creature under his control.

He heard another crash from behind him over the roars of the Fiendfyre and the shouts of battle, and he could barely take a moment to glance away and see that the puppets that Hunt and McCardy had been fighting had arrived as well. Never letting down his guard, he raised his wand above his head and waved it in a large circle.

The Fiendfyre obeyed his will and circled around the vault, surrounding it from all sides: an impenetrable barrier. He didn't even have the luxury to let his thoughts diverge for even a moment to hope that Draco, Zabini and the Aurors atop the vault still had the shield up, because it was taking every bit of his entire being to keep the Dark spell under control.

The puppets kept throwing themselves into the flames mindlessly, doing the one thing they were programmed to do: retrieve the artefacts at all costs. He had lost count of how many puppets the Fiendfyre had consumed, and he kept it circling around the vault until he no longer felt anything else enter its flaming body.

He was so focused on keeping the spell under control that he could barely feel his own body. It was only when a red spark shot up into the air and erupted against the domed roof, signalling that he could cease the spell casting, that Harry jerked his head upwards, as though his neck was a rusted faucet that had to be forced to turn. He then had to concentrate in order to feel his arms again, bring them close together, and stare at the tip of his wand, the source of the flames, as he muttered the countercharm.

The Fiendfyre flickered and hissed, but didn't seem to be in any mood to go out. Gritting his teeth so hard that his jaw hurt, he blinked the sweat out of his eyes and focused all of his magic on suppressing the spell. The creature, now a humongous serpent, came to stand before him in all its ginormous glory, its maw wide open and its flaming eyes staring down at him in challenge.

Harry knew what he had to do, felt it bubble up within him as he eyed the giant snake, and he only hesitated for a moment before baring his teeth and hissing at the serpent. The creature reared back at the command spoken in Parseltongue, and it half-hissed, half-screeched at Harry. For a moment, he thought he had failed, but then the Fiendfyre began to collapse on itself, flames licking the walls and cascading over one another as they seemed to get sucked into an invisible vortex, until it left behind a single, weak-looking Ashwinder on the ground.

He pointed his wand at the remnants of the spell and disintegrated it. The moment the Ashwinder dissolved into nothingness, Harry collapsed to his knees, feeling as though an unbearably heavy weight had been dropped onto his shoulders. He pressed his hands against the floor, breathing heavily, sweat pouring out from every pore of his body. His spectacles slipped off his nose and clattered to the ground, and he simply stared at them through a blurry haze, trying to push away the vignettes that clouded his vision.

People were shouting and yelling above and around him, but the ringing in his ears was too loud for him to be able to discern their words. Someone grabbed his shoulder and twisted him around so he was lying on his back, and hands roamed up and down his aching body, probably to make sure that all his limbs were intact and uninjured.

"'M fine," he murmured, barely able to move his lips. After a moment the hands disappeared and Buxley's voice echoed through the ringing.

Someone propped his head up and something cool was pressed to his lips. He parted them, groaning as the soothing sweet taste of water filled his mouth. Swallowing thickly, he revelled in the coolness as it travelled down his throat and let his eyes flutter shut for a moment.

There was a _bang_ from somewhere close by and Harry's eyes snapped open. He jerked upright, hands roaming around the ground in an attempt to find his glasses. A moment later they were placed on his nose and he looked into stunned grey eyes and a pale face as Draco held out a hand. Harry clutched it tight, letting the blond pull him to his feet.

Not letting go of Draco's hand in fear that he would fall over without the support, Harry turned to Buxley and raised his eyebrows, not trusting himself to speak. His deputy just shook his head, his expression mirroring Draco's, and he said, "I have to say, boss: I have seen you in action before and have always known you were fantastic with your wand work, but this… this was something else. Bloody hell, I'm still shocked we're all alive and standing."

"Status update," Harry croaked, waving his hand weakly at the compliment, and Buxley nodded.

"Right. Well." Buxley's eyes flickered down for a moment before he continued. "You took out every single one of those puppet-creature-things, as well as a few unsuspecting witches and wizards, but we still managed to capture every one of them that entered the warehouse."

"Can't say the same for the ones that ambushed us outside," Rogers said as he jogged up to them. He turned to Harry, glancing down for a moment before saying in a breathless voice, "Sir, that was some magnificent spell-casting. Nothing I've ever seen before. Bloody brilliant." When harry waved his hand again for the man to continue, Rogers said, "Three of them managed to get around us and attacked Wendy and the lads. We destroyed some of the artefacts they tried to make off with and captured one of them, but the other two still managed to escape with two artefacts."

Harry sighed, running a hand down his face. After all that drama, they had gotten away yet again…

"You don't have to look that crestfallen."

He looked up to see Wendy, the middle-aged witch's robes ripped and dirty, and a big, red gash on her cheek, as she hobbled over to them. "In the very last moment, I managed to attach a tracking spell to one of the objects. We may still be able to catch them before they find it."

Harry snapped his head towards Buxley, who was already bellowing orders to a group of Aurors, and Rogers nodded to Harry before taking off to gather his men and leave in pursuit of the perpetrators. Harry then turned to Wendy and smiled. "Thanks," he managed, his voice hoarse. She nodded, a strange expression on her face as she looked down before being led off towards the makeshift first aid station in the corner.

"We better get you checked out too," Draco said, squeezing Harry's fingers, reminding him that they were still holding hands. _Shite. That's probably what they were all staring at,_ Harry suddenly realised, mentally slapping his forehead for being so stupid.

"I'm fine," Harry croaked again, letting go of Draco's hand in embarrassment. He looked around, ignoring Draco's curious gaze fixed on his face as he assessed the extent of damage. Most of the floor and walls were fried, but the vault at the very centre remained untouched. Harry stared at the people bustling about, removing the Dark objects from inside the vault.

"You look like you'll collapse at any moment," Draco finally said, and Harry turned to the blond with a frown.

"Shut up," he muttered, still mortified by the fact that his colleagues had seen him and Draco holding hands and would have surely misunderstood the situation. _You're over reacting. Just like a teenage girl,_ his mind told him, but he told it to shut up as well. Draco's eyebrows shot up at the childish retort, and Harry, who was much too exhausted and embarrassed to come up with something intelligent, said, "Don't make me kiss you," in a poor act of revenge.

Draco's cheeks coloured and he coughed, glancing around to make sure no one had heard. Harry smiled smugly, glad that he wasn't the only one feeling embarrassed. A sudden wave of exhaustion swept over him and he teetered. Draco grabbed Harry's elbow with one hand, looping the other around Harry's waist as he steadied him.

Someone cleared their throat and Harry turned to see Zabini standing before them, a weird expression on his face. He looked from one man to the next, then to their intertwined arms and Draco's hand on Harry's waist, before fixing his gaze on Harry. "I have a lot of things I want to say to you, but first and foremost: your analysts made the best of a horrible situation and managed to identify the less-dangerous Dark objects. I'll give them credit for that. I'll take a look at the others to determine whether or not we'll be able to move them or if we're going to have to diffuse them first. The others can be diffused once they've been moved."

"You can diffuse them?" Harry asked in a croaky voice, causing Zabini to wrinkle his nose.

"Yes, Potter, I can," he said in a voice that would've pissed Harry off if he weren't so tired. Zabini then turned to Draco with raised eyebrows. "Will you be joining me this evening, or are you going to continue to stick to your boyfriend here?"

Harry went rigid and felt Draco stiffen beside him. Face growing hot, he began to pull away, but Draco only tightened his grip around Harry as he said in a low voice, "Let me make sure Harry gets some first aid and I'll be right with you."

Harry glanced at the blond to see that he had a strained smile on his face, and it looked like some sort of non-verbal communication passed between the two men, because Zabini finally made an exasperated motion with his hand as he rolled his eyes and walked away.

"What's his problem?" Harry asked as Draco ushered him towards the first aid station.

Draco sighed, a hint of sadness in his eyes as he said, "He's just... been through a lot. Plus, he had to reschedule an important conference for this, so he isn't in the best of moods. Besides, although your spellcasting and damage-control skills were amazing, that was a dangerous situation we were in." Draco's sadness made Harry's chest ache and he blamed himself for it. "Blaise, he… still hasn't forgiven himself for evacuating during the final battle," Draco said in a quiet voice, almost as an afterthought, as though it was something he had wanted to say out loud for a very long time.

"He wasn't the only one," Harry said in an attempt to placate the blond. "And it was a rather wise decision," he added. "I mean, your friend Crabbe..."

He realised his mistake the moment the words left his mouth, and Draco inhaled sharply, his jaw set. He was staring straight ahead, his eyes stormy, and Harry realised that he shouldn't have made that statement without thinking. Especially not now, after the whole Fiendfyre incident. _Talk about insensitive,_ he scolded himself.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"No, you're right," Draco interrupted with a sigh. "I've told Blaise as much multiple times, but he thinks I'm just saying it to make him feel better." There was an awkward pause as they walked the seemingly long distance to the first aid station. "But that isn't all," Draco continued. "The reason Crabbe even learned the spell for Fiendfyre was because of an argument between him and Blaise. Blaise told him that an idiot like him would never be able to control a spell as powerful as that, and Crabbe wanted to prove him wrong."

"Except he didn't," Harry murmured, seeing Draco nod out of the corner of his eye. "And Zabini blames himself for Crabbe's death…"

"He does."

"Then me casting the spell must've brought all those bitter memories back," Harry said, shaking his head.

"I have said this time and again, and I will continue to say it," Draco said as they stopped in front of the small, makeshift station. He turned to face Harry, letting go of his arm in the process, his eyes intense. "You saved our lives. You have nothing to apologise for."

Harry swallowed thickly and nodded. He knew Draco wasn't talking about just then, and he couldn't think of anything to say in response.

"Make sure he doesn't run away before a proper check-up," Draco said to the medic who had come up to them with a smile. "I'm going to go do my job now," he then said to Harry before making his way back to the vault.

Harry watched him walk away for a long moment, eyeing the blond's slumped shoulders and exhausted demeanour, various things running through his mind. He was distracted only by the Auror saying, "He's Draco Malfoy, isn't he?"

"Yeah."

"He's so… different than I imagined him to be."

Harry didn't see how she had reached that conclusion after speaking with Draco for hardly a few seconds, but he understood her reaction; he had reacted in much the same when he had first met the blond after so many years, after all. It made sense that people would be surprised when they came to see what sort of a person Draco really was.

"You and me both," Harry said as he settled down on a stool, ignoring the confused look the medic shot him at his weird response. "Is there an energy tonic you can give me? I feel like I'm going to pass out any moment now."

"Of course!" she said as she rummaged through a large box with the Ministry's seal on a big, red plus plastered on the front.

He sighed as he leaned back against the wall and zoned out. He probably had some time to rest before either Buxley or Rogers got back to him on whether or not they were able to catch the runaways, or Draco and Zabini finished examining the artefacts.

 _I deserve a break,_ he thought to himself as he gulped down the tonic and shut his eyes.

* * *

 **8:57 PM**

"I'll leave it to you, then," Harry said to Rogers over the phone.

Rogers and his men had managed to track down the suspects who had escaped with the artefacts, and Rogers had made the intelligent decision to follow them to their hideout instead of capturing them. He had just called Harry to report to him that they were scoping out what seemed like a temporary hideaway and would call back with more information soon.

"Smart fellow, Rogers," Harry said to Buxley as the man walked up to him.

Buxley only grunted in response before jerking his head in the direction of their captives. "Two more gone."

Harry sighed. "Again? That's five out of a dozen so far. How are they doing it?" Harry asked as he massaged his temples. "We've done multiple full-body searches and confiscated anything remotely lethal."

"No idea," Buxley said with a frustrated sigh. "But if they keep dropping like flies, then everything we've done so far is pointless."

"Sir."

Harry and Buxley turned to see the Auror from the first aid station standing before them with a small packet in her hand. "What's that?" Harry asked as she held it up.

"Some sort of poison. We found it at the corners of the mouth of one of the deceased."

"How did they manage to ingest it?" Buxley asked. "They're fully bound and can barely even move a muscle without being in excruciating pain."

She glanced at the whitish substance in the packet and then at the two men. "This is just my theory since we don't have the equipment required to perform an autopsy or a proper examination, but the poison may have been ingested prior to coming here."

Harry shared a look with his deputy. Buxley then turned back to the medic and said, "Elaborate."

"Well, we know that the body takes around 30 minutes to an hour to digest a capsule and around two to three hours for it to peak blood concentration. So presuming that this poison may have originally been ingested in the form of a powder or a pill, we can deduce that it was consumed just before the attack was commenced."

Buxley ran a hand down his face while Harry sighed and nodded. "Makes logical sense," he said, eyeing the small packet. "Assuming you're correct, does that mean we have no way of saving them?"

The Auror hesitated and Harry gave her a smile of encouragement. She cleared her throat and said, "Well… I won't say it's impossible, but at this point it may be rather difficult."

"But?" Harry asked, sensing that there was more to it than that.

"But we may still stand a chance if I was able to examine this sample and identify the antipoison required to reverse the effects of the poison. I can't guarantee anything, but if we're able to negate or dilute the poison even a little, we may be able to prolong their lives—at least long enough to glean information from them."

Harry nodded. "Buxley, we're moving them to the Ministry. We don't want to waste anymore time here."

"Plus, we know that this extreme measure is what they chose as an alternative for revealing information. That's probably why I haven't been able to break them; they knew they would die a painless death anyway. If they know we have a way of counteracting the poison, they may be a little more compliant," Buxley said, a somewhat menacing glint in his eyes.

"I trust that you won't go overboard," Harry told the man pointedly, but Buxley only grunted before shuffling off. Harry then turned to the medic with a wide smile. "Thank you for your help… Mary. I really do appreciate it." He wasn't sure if he remembered her name correctly, but from the way she beamed at him, he was glad he had eavesdropped on her conversation with one of the Aurors.

"I'm sorry, but I couldn't help but overhear," Wendy said as she hobbled up to them. "Do you mind if me and the rest head back to the Ministry as well? With Mr Zabini's help, we'd be able to diffuse the Dark artefacts and make sure they don't pose any danger."

"Perfect," Harry said. "I'll inform Zabini."

The two women nodded and walked away, leaving Harry to turn towards the vault. He made his way to the small group gathered around it, feeling oddly intimidated at the prospect of speaking with Zabini. There was something about the man that made Harry feel like he knew, or suspected, more about things—regarding him and Draco, that is—than he led on. _Shut up,_ he instructed his racing heart, to no avail.

"Sir," one of the Aurors said as Harry reached them. "Houston says we're moving all of these back to the Ministry. Is that advisable?"

Instead of answering, Harry squatted down and peered into the dimly lit vault. "The pros should be the one to decide," he said, but instead of looking at Draco or Zabini—who had paused in their work to look up when he had begun to speak—he smiled at Wendy's assistants.

"Oh," the lads said, glancing at each other and then at Draco and Zabini. "It should be safe now, shouldn't it?"

Zabini waved a gloved hand, as though the matter didn't concern him, and returned to tinkering with what looked like a distorted candelabra. Draco was the one to answer. "Yes. The ones we've put up barriers around are fine to be transported. I would, however, recommend added protection just to be safe."

"We'll take care of that, sir," one of the lads said, almost reverently. Harry raised his eyebrows at Draco, who shot him a bemused smile before turning back to Zabini.

"Well, that should be the last of it," Zabini said as he carefully stood up. Harry noticed something shimmer over the object, as though there was an invisible bubble covering it, and Zabini nodded at the two assistants. "You can move them now. _Carefully_."

"Yessir!"

"Looks like you've already got them under your belt," Harry commented as Draco and Zabini climbed out of the vault.

"What can I say? They recognise true skill and ability when they see it," Zabini said, not even attempting to sound modest.

Harry chuckled, having gotten used to his pompousness. "Well, we're moving most of our work back to the Ministry, but what will you two do?"

"I'm afraid I can't be of any more help than this," Zabini said as he took off his gloves and checked his watch. "I have a private plane waiting to fly me to my conference in half an hour, so if you'll excuse me, I need to go make sure those idiot Muggles at the airport haven't manhandled my luggage."

"Thank you for all your help. I owe you. Big time," Harry said as he held out a hand. He truly was grateful for Zabini's help. If it weren't for him and Draco, things probably wouldn't have progressed as smoothly with regards to the artefacts.

Zabini considered him for a moment before taking his hand and shaking it once. "You can count that I'll be calling on you for an equally big favour some time."

Harry smiled. "And I promise to help you to the best of my abilities, no questions asked."

Zabini scoffed, smirking. "That may have worked on Draco, but I'm not that easily wooed."

Harry flushed, his smile faltering momentarily as he tried to retain his composure. Zabini, on the other hand, didn't seem to care for Harry's embarrassment. He nodded to the Aurors as he Transfigured the overcoat he was wearing back into a handkerchief and stuffed it into his pocket. Then, turning to Harry, he said, "I must say that I may have underestimated you, Potter."

With that, and a quick goodbye to Draco, he spun on the spot and Disapparated.

"He's like a bloody whirlwind," Harry said, shaking his head.

Draco chuckled. "Why do you think I'm still such good friends with him? He never fails to keep me on my toes."

"Not in the way I can, I hope," Harry muttered to himself, but when he glanced at Draco, he saw that the blond's eyes were wide and the tips of his ears were pink. "Pretend you never heard anything," Harry said quickly, mortified. He cleared his throat and looked away, and Draco did the same. Harry seemed to have somehow polished his already exceptional ability with digging his own grave that evening.

"Sir!" one of his men called, jogging up to them and, thankfully, dissipating the awkward atmosphere. "The captives are ready to be transported!"

Harry nodded. Turning to Draco, he said, "Do you mind overseeing them—" he nodded at the Aurors moving the artefacts into the back of a truck, "—while I go make sure everything's alright on that end?"

Draco smiled despite the obvious exhaustion lining his features and his still pale complexion, making Harry want to sigh in relief. "Leave it to me."

* * *

 **[December 3 2011]**

 **8:11 AM**

"You're leaving already?" Ginny asked as Harry pulled on his coat. "Didn't yet just get back a while ago?"

Harry yawned as he leaned over to peck her on the cheek. He _had_ actually just gotten home a few hours ago because sleeping on the couch in his office was giving him a terrible neck sore. "I told you it was going to be a hectic weekend."

Ginny pursed her lips. "Did you at least eat something?"

"Not really."

"You're not leaving without a proper breakfast, mister," Ginny said, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him towards the kitchen.

"But I have to leave!"

"You're going to be no good fallen flat on your face from exhaustion!"

"You're such a task master," Harry said, rolling his eyes, as he perched on the stool by the counter.

"That's what a wife is," Ginny replied with a wink, making Harry snort.

"I'm gonna take a quick power nap, then," he said as he laid his cheek down on the counter, revelling at the feel of the cool metal against his skin.

"Go for it."

He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply and letting the exhaustion sink in. The previous night had been hectic, to say the least. He had to oversee Buxley's interrogations, make sure the medical team was working quickly on the antipoison—which they managed to identify and administer in an impressively short amount of time—stay up to date with the situation on Rogers' end, as well as monitor Wendy and her team's progress on diffusing the Dark artefacts.

All in all, he had to be in too many places and be in the know about so many things almost simultaneously that it drove him up the wall. At one point he had just stood staring at a plant in the corridor and zoned out for a good ten minutes in an attempt to regain his sanity.

Hermione had kept herself updated with their progress through back-and-forth memos while keeping Harry informed of the situation in the DMLE at the same time. News of the "violent attack" had already reached the ears of the higher-ups, as well as the media, who wouldn't stop bombarding the Ministry officials with questions until they were forced to pretend like the Ministry had been closed down for the day.

At some point past midnight, Harry had passed out on the sofa in his office, awoken to his neck cracking painfully because of the odd position he had been sleeping in. He had then Apparated home to sleep in his own bed for a couple hours before having to return back to the madness.

"Sweetheart, your phone is ringing," Harry heard Ginny say through the haze of sleep. "Do you want me to get it? It might be someone from work."

He muttered something incoherent without moving, intent on falling straight back into unconsciousness.

"Harry… why is Draco Malfoy calling you on your cell phone?"

That effectively shocked him awake. He jerked upright, blinking furiously as he adjusted his glasses with one hand and grabbed the phone from her with the other. Clicking the green button, he pressed the phone to his ear and cleared his throat before saying, "Hello?"

"Would you like to explain to me why there's an army of Aurors outside my door, accusing me of possessing Dark artefacts and demanding that I let them search my home?"

"What Aurors?" Harry snapped, rising to his feet. "What're you on about?"

"Like I said—" Draco was cut off by a familiar voice that Harry couldn't quite place. Before he could figure out who it was, Draco's voice came back on and he said, "Some joker called Dyers is here, saying he's got a search warrant from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

Harry cursed aloud as he strode over to the fireplace and grabbed a fistful of Floo powder. "Is your Floo open?" he asked. "I'm coming over."

"Don't bother with the Floo," Draco said, his voice strained. "I'll let down the wards; just Apparate straight here."

"Got it."

There was a _click_ and the call ended. Harry swore again as he stuffed the phone into his pocket and threw the powder back into its bowl.

"What's going on?" Ginny asked, concerned.

"Dyers making my life difficult for no reason again," he said around the muffin she had handed him.

"Him again? I thought he stopped after he left the force?"

"That's what we all thought," Harry said with a sigh as he stepped back and nodded to Ginny. "See you later, then."

She looked like she had a million questions to ask him, but all she said was, "Be careful," and he shot her a grateful smile for that.

Disapparating, he arrived moments later just inside the threshold of Malfoy Manor. At first, he was going to Apparate inside the house, but that would probably give Dyers more to frustrate Harry about than if he were to appear outside, so he decided to go with the latter.

"Dyers!" he barked as he strode over to the group of Aurors stationed at the front door.

The blond started and turned to stare at him wide-eyed, the shock quickly changing into contempt as he sneered. "Why, if it isn't Head Auror Potter. Shouldn't you be overseeing the investigation?"

"That's why I'm here," Harry snapped, coming to a stop inches away from Dyers. He loomed over the man, glowering at him, until Dyers was forced to step backwards with an uncomfortable cough.

"I—I don't understand," he began, but Harry directed his attention to the Aurors, feeling Draco's gaze on him the whole time and having to use all of his will power from not turning towards the blond immediately and apologising.

He scrutinised each of his men and could tell that they had been coerced into following Dyers' instructions. With a nod to them, he returned his attention to Dyers and crossed his arms. "What don't you understand?" Harry asked, his voice booming. "That we're in the middle of an important investigation and cannot afford to waste time, effort or manpower on your foolish whims and fancies?"

Dyers' cheeks coloured and he bared his teeth, looking like an injured animal. "Well, excuse me for trying to _help,"_ he spat.

"I already told you that _I_ will come to _you_ if I ever need your help. Besides," he said, finally acknowledging Draco's presence, "I don't understand how harassing an innocent man and forcing your way into his home first thing in the morning is _helping."_

"Do you not know who this man is?" Dyers asked, his voice high, as he pointed at Draco, whose expression was stony.

"I know _exactly_ who he is," Harry said, his tone revealing the extent of his dislike towards Dyers. "Do _you?"_

Dyers faltered, seemingly confused, and one of the Aurors cleared his throat. Harry turned to the man, wanting any excuse to look away from the embarrassment of a former Auror that Dyers was, motioning for him to speak.

"Sir, firstly, we would like to apologise to both you and Mr Malfoy," he bowed towards Draco before continuing, "for the inconvenience caused. Mr Dyers here informed us this morning that he had proof that Mr Malfoy had stolen some of the Dark artefacts before they were transported to the Ministry last evening. When we questioned an Auror who was present at the scene, he confirmed that Mr Malfoy was indeed closely involved with the artefacts, and, while he couldn't comment on whether or not any artefacts were stolen by anybody besides the criminals, he did say that it could have been possible in the confusion."

Harry nodded and thanked the man, both for his apology as well as his honesty. His men were good, hard-working wizards who would only go along with something as outrageous as Dyers' accusations if they thought it posed any sort of threat in any way—especially in the midst of such a tense investigation. Harry didn't blame them; the Malfoys were known to have been in possession of several Dark artefacts and had undergone investigation multiple times after the war for the same. Several people still believed that there were dangerous things lurking within the Manor, hidden away from prying eyes.

"I would like to discuss your informant in detail once we're back in my office," Harry said to Dyers. "But, first, let me put your misgivings to rest. I can fully attest to Mr Malfoy's innocence as I was the one who requested his help yesterday." Dyers' eyebrows shot up at this and murmurs broke out from the Aurors, but Harry decided that there was no point in hiding the truth. He didn't want to get Draco in any more trouble than he already had. Him leaving Zabini out was something he hoped would play in his favour when Harry was begging Draco for forgiveness.

"We were desperate, short of help, and didn't have enough information or knowledge regarding the artefacts," Harry continued. "Mr Malfoy was a great help, as I am sure anyone from the examination team, as well as the Aurors who were with them, can confirm."

He motioned towards the gates. "Now, if you have any further questions or concerns that outweigh the present investigation, then I will gladly answer each and every one of them in detail."

Dyers muttered something else but Harry had already turned to the Auror who had spoken up earlier. "Bennett, can you give me a status report?"

"Yessir!"

"And the rest of you—please escort Mr Dyers back to the Ministry and inform Mrs Weasley of what happened here. I'll join you shortly."

"Yessir!"

Harry then turned to Draco and said, "I am extremely sorry for this; I take full blame for the situation."

Draco only nodded once in response, and Harry's heart fell. The blond's eyes were cold, his jaw was set, and his expression was emotionless. He looked almost like an exact replica of Lucius back when Harry was in his second year; when he had put Lucius in a tough spot and the man had barely been able to contain his humiliation and outrage. It was not something Harry remembered fondly.

He forced himself to turn back to Bennett and listen to the man's report half-heartedly; his thoughts were filled with what he could possibly do to get Draco to forgive him. Once the Auror was done, he excused himself to return to the Ministry, and Harry finally turned back to Draco.

"I'm so, so sorry," he said, coming to stand beside the man. "I swear, if I had any idea what he was up to—"

"I would feel terrible if I were to blame the Head Auror for his subordinates' mistakes. Clearly, this was not ordered by you, and you responded to my call immediately, so I have nothing to complain about."

Draco's voice was crisp and formal, much like the first time he had met Harry, as though they were complete strangers.

"Draco, please," Harry said, a lump forming in his throat. Just the thought of the blond being angry with him made him desperate to appease him. "Tell me how I can make it up to you."

Draco glanced away, and after a moment, he said quietly, "Please leave."

"Draco—"

"There are people waiting for you—depending on you. I don't want to keep you from saving the world." He glanced over his shoulder for a moment, and Harry thought he caught sight of Astoria in the shadows. "Besides, I don't want my family to have to endure any more of this misunderstanding. They've already faced enough unjust criticism for being Malfoys than I will allow."

Draco's voice was so distant and strained that it broke Harry's heart. It was almost as though he was telling Harry to walk out of his life—forever.

 _I can't have that. Not now. I haven't even told him how I feel yet._

"Can I see you again?" Harry asked, wincing when his voice broke.

Draco glanced at him, and he must've seen the pain on Harry's face because his expression softened in the slightest. "Why don't you focus on your investigation? That's more important, after all."

 _Hardly,_ Harry wanted to say, but he knew he had to respect Draco's wishes. Now that he had confirmed his feelings, he no longer had the guts to push as hard as he had before. He was too afraid of their fragile relationship shattering into smithereens so small that they would never be able to be pieced back together again.

"I'll come see you," Harry said, taking a step back. "As soon as all of this is over and done with, I'll come see you."

Draco smiled in a way that made Harry want to rip his heart out and throw it far, far away. "Goodbye, Harry."

* * *

 **A/n: I will admit that writing that last bit hurt me a little too much T_T I mean, Draco's reaction is understandable. He specifically told Harry that he had worked very hard to keep his record clean, and just the next morning this asshole shows up at his door accusing him of things he never did.**

 **For those of you who wanted to see Draco's reaction to _everything_ that happened: that's coming in the next chapter.**

 **Also, what did you guys think about Harry successfully casting Fiendfyre? I thought it was about time he had a badass moment in this story ;3**

 **I also like writing a Harry who's realising the depth of his feelings for Draco. Don't you feel like no matter how old you are, in front of the person you like you turn into a squealing, bumbling, fumbling mess? At least in your head, even if you're able to be perfectly stoic outside xD**

 **(The way I talk about this story you'd never think I was the one who wrote it XD Once a Drarry fangirl, always a Drarry fangirl lol.)**

 **Let me know what you thought!**

 **Lots of love,**

 **Arty xx**


	38. 38 Lies: Unspooling

**A/n: I apologise for the lateness of this chapter; I was on vacation for twenty days and then fell ill soon after. This is the longest chapter so far, so I hope it makes up for the wait. Thank you for being patient!**

 ** _IMPORTANT_ : I can't remember if I mentioned this before, but as you all probably know, the wonderful Chloe PR China offered to translate this story into Chinese. Another absolutely wonderful person, Cuchufleta PL, offered to translate this story into Spanish! Both links are in my bio, so do feel free to share! And lots of love to Cuchufleta PL and Chloe for doing me the honour xxxxx**

* * *

 ** _Recap :_**

 _Draco's voice was so distant and strained that it broke Harry's heart. It was almost as though he was telling Harry to walk out of his life—forever._

I can't have that. Not now. I haven't even told him how I feel yet.

 _"Can I see you again?" Harry asked, wincing when his voice broke._

 _Draco glanced at him, and he must've seen the pain on Harry's face because his expression softened in the slightest. "Why don't you focus on your investigation? That's more important, after all."_

Hardly _, Harry wanted to say, but he knew he had to respect Draco's wishes. Now that he had confirmed his feelings, he no longer had the guts to push as hard as he had before. He was too afraid of their fragile relationship shattering into smithereens so small that they would never be able to be pieced back together again._

 _"I'll come see you," Harry said, taking a step back. "As soon as all of this is over and done with, I'll come see you."_

 _Draco smiled in a way that made Harry want to rip his heart out and throw it far, far away. "Goodbye, Harry."_

* * *

 **[December 3 2011]**

 **Unspooling**

 **11:19 AM**

Harry paced up and down his office, unable to stay still. Every time he thought back to Draco's goodbye, a lump formed in his throat and he felt an immense need to curl up in a corner and break down. Leaning back against his desk, he pinched the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes, refusing to acknowledge the telltale wetness in the corners of his eyes.

 _Was I always this weak?_ he thought morosely with a shaky sigh. _What have you done to me?_ he asked the image of Draco in his head, swallowing thickly when the blond only bid him farewell in response.

Shaking his head, he looked up and stared at his closed door, replaying the events that had transpired after he had returned to the office in his head.

Hermione had been standing outside his office, looking livid, and had escorted Dyers to the DMLE without so much as an explanation. Dyers had, surprisingly, followed after her meekly—Harry was contemptuous about the fact that his words had had such an impact on the prat—and hadn't put up much of a fight.

Harry knew that there had been rumours floating around that Dyers was going to lose his job ever since Hermione's promotion, and seeing as how the man had panicked and outdone his previous mistakes in a poor attempt to secure his position, Harry was quite certain that Dyers' job was on the line. The DMLE was intolerant towards idiots, and the fact that Dyers had even held his post for so long was something worth commending.

 _Goes to show that even arse-licking only gets you so far,_ Harry thought idly as he continued to stare at the door. A moment later, it opened, and Hermione stepped in. She shut it and leaned back against it with a sigh, looking exhausted.

"That bad, huh?" Harry asked as he Summoned his teapot and poured both of them cups of tea.

"I don't know what was worse: having to be the one to tell Dyers he's being let go and is being replaced by me, or having to endure his pathetic begging for another chance," she said as she flopped down on the chair beside him and waved her wand to heat her tea.

Harry remained silent as he sipped his tea, not having anything smart to comment for once, and Hermione seemed to notice. "I heard about what happened with Draco Malfoy this morning," she said after a moment, placing her cup down to look up at him.

He glanced away, tightening his grip on the handle of his teacup as he pushed back the memory of Draco's goodbye. "Yeah," was the only response he could manage, and he saw Hermione shift from the corner of his eye.

"I didn't know you were such good friends with him that you would ask him to help with such an important investigation and he would agree."

Her tone wasn't exactly accusatory, but there was a subtle iciness to it that Harry could easily identify after being friends with her for so many years. "Yeah, well," he said vaguely and sipped his cup, leaving her to bristle in her seat.

"Well?" Hermione pressed, stubborn as usual.

"What exactly do you want me to say?" Harry snapped. Anything to do with his and Draco's relationship was a very touchy subject just then, and he wasn't really in the mood to talk about it when he himself didn't know what was going to happen to them.

Hermione frowned, looking somewhat confused by his outburst. "Nothing, if you don't want to talk about it that much."

"It's not that I don't want to," he lied begrudgingly for her sake. "It's just that I don't think this is an appropriate time or place for it."

"Would it be more appropriate if I were to tell you that more people know about Dyers' appearance at Malfoy Manor than you had originally thought?"

Harry snapped his head towards her at that, scrutinising her face to see if she was telling the truth or just manipulating him into spilling his guts. Her expression was serious and her gaze was straightforward; she seemed bothered by it enough that he decided to believe that it was the whole truth.

"And the media?"

"They're going to know about it sooner than later if something drastic isn't done," Hermione said, her voice grave.

Harry half-turned so he was facing her and asked, "Drastic like what?"

"Well, I'm sure you're aware of the general procedure all Ministry employees in high enough posts have to go through after their dismissal," she said in a way that suggested that Harry had to read between the lines.

Harry did, in fact, know more than just the general procedure. Considering that the Ministry of Magic was the highest governing body in all of magical Britain, certain preemptive measures were put in place in the years since its founding in order to filter the amount of crucial information that left the Ministry. The higher up on the ladder you were, the less likely you were to be let go—unless, of course, you did something outrageous—which, in turn, meant that you were privy to more information about the inner workings of the Ministry than your subordinates.

That's why people who held the highest posts were always sworn into their positions and were rarely ever fired or quit; and when they chose to retire, they voluntarily took on an Unbreakable Vow to never reveal the Ministry's secrets to the general population.

Of course, that meant that the moment someone was dishonourably discharged, they would, more likely than not, hold a grudge against the Ministry and would be the most likely to spill all its secrets to the world. In order to counter this, a special task force within Human Resources was specifically trained in manipulating the Memory Charm in order to counter any means of information leakage.

The reason the media and certain activists or organisations, whose main aim was to uncover the dirty and "unjust" practices going on within the Ministry, were unable to get substantial proof that the Ministry was manipulating its employees' memories for its own benefit was because of how skilled the task force was. They used very specific keywords while casting the charm, thus leaving the vast majority of the person's memories untouched. It was only when particular words pertaining to specific information were triggered that the person would have a temporary, almost unnoticeable, lapse in memory. The fact that there weren't that many cases of people in high posts being dismissed further stymied the organisations' attempt to expose the Ministry.

Of course, it was only because of Harry's position that he even knew any of this, and he knew that if he ever was dismissed in the same way Dyers was, he would go through the same process as well.

None of that gave Harry a clear idea of what Hermione was getting at, however, and he stared at her for a long moment, trying to decipher the hidden implication in her words, until she sighed and shook her head in defeat.

"Really, must I spell _everything_ out for you?" she said as she pushed her teacup away and got to her feet. Stepping sideways so their shoulders were brushing against each other, she leaned against the desk and stared at the door much like he had been doing. "You know that Dyers is going to go through the same procedure, right?"

"Right."

"And only very specific information is going to be blocked from his memory?"

Harry had the urge to ask Hermione how she knew so much about stuff she wasn't supposed to know about but then realised it was pointless. _It's Hermione, after all. She makes it her business to know everything about everything._

So he just nodded in response, and she shot him a look. "And Dyers is the one who created the whole Malfoy fiasco."

Harry frowned as he tried hard to connect the dots. Was she trying to say that erasing Dyers' memory of the event at Malfoy Manor was the 'drastic measure' that was required to stop any more people, especially the media, from finding out about it?

"But the task force wouldn't know—or care, even if they do know—about what happened to erase it from his memory," Harry said, and from the way Hermione turned away, he knew he had just stated the obvious. "In fact, I'm sure the higher-ups would gladly allow Draco's alleged theft of the Dark artefacts to take the limelight so as to not bring notice to Dyers' dismissal."

"Exactly," Hermione said, further confusing Harry. "After all, the special force only takes orders from very specific people." She straightened up and stepped forward, turning around to face Harry. They scrutinised each other for a long moment, Hermione's expression never giving away what was going on in her head. She was looking at him as though she was deciding whether or not to say anything more, and her hesitation made Harry wonder if she was acting on someone else's orders and not of her own volition.

"How much do you value your friendship with Malfoy?" she finally asked, and it took Harry a minute to understand what she meant.

Realisation hit him like a ton of bricks and he eyed at Hermione breathlessly for a moment, stunned and unnerved that she would even suggest something so… unscrupulous. "Who put you up to this?" he asked her, thinking that the Hermione he knew would never have come up with that thought on her own—at least, he hoped so.

She shrugged. "I was told to handle this situation with Dyers, and as this Malfoy fiasco is a part of it as well, I decided to come and talk to you about it." He could tell she wasn't telling him the whole truth, but before he could say anything more, she added, "What you take away from this conversation is wholly up to you."

They stared at each other for a minute, neither speaking until Hermione finally looked away. She eyed the door for a moment longer before saying again, "How much _do_ you value your friendship with Malfoy?"

She turned to look at him, a strange expression on her face, much like the one Zabini had worn before he insinuated Harry and Draco's relationship. Harry just continued to watch her without answering, knowing the question was more rhetorical than inquisitive. Proving his presumption to be correct, she spun on her heel and walked to the door. She only paused to say, "Dyers has already been given the pink slip. He's packing up his desk. He should leave for good by the end of the day," before leaving the office.

Harry stared at the closed door for a long time, his heart racing in his chest. He placed a hand against his forehead, staring at the carpeted floor as he replayed the conversation in his head. He couldn't think of any other alternative for her implications, and the way she had just come and gone, it was clear that whatever Harry chose to make of her words would lead to consequences she wanted no part of.

Raising his head slowly, he dropped his arm to his side and inhaled through his mouth, Hermione's final question resonating in his mind.

 _"_ _How much do you value your friendship with Malfoy?"_

 _More than I care to admit,_ he thought, unsurprised by how quickly he had reached a decision. He faltered for a moment, but when Draco's goodbye flickered into his thoughts yet again, he gritted his teeth and strode to the door, determined.

As he made his way to the task force's headquarters, hidden away from prying eyes, the underlying meaning in Hermione's question echoed through his head.

 _"_ _How far are you willing to go for Malfoy's sake?"_

* * *

 **4:47 PM**

Harry stood at the window behind his desk, looking at the enchanted view of a field as he idly picked at his lower lip. He had just returned from speaking with the wizard who was in charge of overseeing Dyers' discharge and had made sure to pass on his own additions to the usual list of keywords. The man had eyed him dubiously but had agreed to see to it that the job was done, nonetheless.

 _Not like he has a choice,_ Harry thought to himself. It was a direct order from the Head Auror; disobeying it had more dire consequences than doing what was asked. That was just how things had always worked, Harry knew. If there was one thing Harry found relief in, however, it was that those who were involved in controversial jobs generally tended not to ask questions and just did as they were told.

He eyed the clock on the mantle, restless. Someone had informed him about three-quarters of an hour ago that Dyers' discharge was already underway, and he was waiting impatiently for news that the deed had been done.

When there were three sharp raps on the door, Harry straightened up with bated breath as his deputy stepped in and walked up to Harry's desk. Buxley tossed a folder onto it, and Harry reached forward to pick it up and flip it open. He read the report quickly and looked up at Buxley, eyebrows raised.

"So you're telling me that despite all your interrogation skills, you still weren't able to glean any useable information?"

Buxley ground his teeth together, his frustration evident. "That's not what it says, is it?"

"Says here that we still don't know who the one pulling the strings from the shadows is."

"Only because those small fry themselves have no idea who their leader is," Buxley snapped. "They're nothing more than disposable pawns, not even part of the hierarchy within this cult."

Harry flipped the pages of the report, mulling over the information at hand. "We should've anticipated as much," he muttered with a sigh. "This was typical of many of the Dark organisations and groups we disbanded; you and I both know that quite a few of the leaders were never arrested because there wasn't enough evidence to prosecute them."

Buxley grunted. "So what do you suggest we do?"

"Nothing," Harry replied, tossing the file back on the desk.

"Pardon?"

Harry ruffled his hair with a sigh and flopped down in his chair. "Like you said, these guys know nothing. They're not of any use to us whatsoever. And I'm sure the anti-poison should wear off anytime soon." When Buxley nodded, Harry continued. "We've run out of options on our end. I don't see the point in chasing ghosts. We've done enough of that for the past few months. We know that whoever is behind this isn't going to make any obvious moves anytime soon because of what happened. Setting aside the fact that these pawns could be replaceable, they've still lost a considerable amount of manpower. And we have all the Dark artefacts they worked so hard on collecting in our hands. They're definitely going to take a step back and regroup before coming at us again."

"So we just wait for more news from Rogers' group, then?" Buxley asked, catching on fast, as usual.

Harry nodded. "That's our only option, right now." He tapped the folder on the desk and leaned back in his seat. "Inform Rogers that his priority should be recovering the artefacts and not capturing the thieves."

Buxley picked up the folder with a thoughtful hum. "What if we put a tracker on those idiots and let them escape?"

"Perfect," Harry said with a grin.

His deputy nodded and began to make his way out when Harry stopped him. "By the way, Buxley…"

"Yeah, boss?"

"What news on Dyers?"

Buxley's expression changed to one of disgust as he grunted and ruffled his greying hair. "That fellow was more trouble than he was worth."

"And?"

Buxley dropped his arm with a sigh and shrugged a shoulder. "And he's out of our hair for good, now."

Harry nodded, swallowing back a sigh of relief.

"Anything else, boss?"

"No. Thanks, Buxley."

The man nodded and left the office, shutting the door behind him.

Harry ran his hands down his face, groaning, and debated about what he was going to do next. He squinted at the fireplace; it was beckoning to him, and it was taking all of his willpower to remain seated in his chair.

 _You said you would only go once everything was over and done with,_ his conscience reminded him.

 _But everything_ is _over and done with,_ he argued back. _Dyers is gone, his memories along with him, and the case has been put on hold._

 _What about Rogers?_

 _Buxley's there to take care of things. I'll only be gone for a little while, and they'll call me if they need me._

 _It's not right for you to disappear at such a crucial time for personal reasons that can wait._

 _Oh, shut up,_ he told his conscience.

Snatching a memo and his quill, he quickly scribbled a note before folding it and tossing it towards the door. It lingered until Harry went and opened the door before zooming out to its recipient. He then strode over to the fireplace and grabbed a fistful of Floo Powder. He hesitated briefly, debating if it was a terrible idea after all, but his need to see Draco overpowered his fear of what would happen. Muttering, "Screw it," he tossed the powder in.

As the green flames settled, Harry stepped in and inhaled deeply. "Draco Malfoy's office, Antares."

The flames engulfed him, and he shut his eyes, replaying the whole speech he had prepared to give Draco in his mind. The moment he felt solid ground beneath his feet, he opened his eyes and was halfway out of the fireplace when he heard Zabini yelling.

"—this goes on, then I'm walking out of here and you'll never see me again! The choice is yours, and I swear, Draco, if you mess things up again, I'm not going to fix it for you. Have I made myself clear?"

Zabini's back was to Harry so he hadn't noticed him yet, but as Draco opened his mouth to reply, his gaze shifted and landed on Harry. His eyes widened, and before Harry could step back into the fireplace, Zabini whipped around, a murderous expression on his face.

"You!" he hissed, storming over to Harry and jabbing him in the chest with a finger. "This is all _your_ fault!"

"Blaise!" Draco exclaimed, coming to stand in-between the two men. "Stop it!" he said to his raging friend before turning to Harry. "Why are you here?" he snapped, his tone harsh, and Harry winced.

"Sorry, I just—I'll leave," he said, backing away to the Floo.

"You do that," Zabini said.

"That's enough," Draco told Zabini, his voice strained. "Don't take your anger out on Harry; your beef is with me."

"My beef was _always_ with you," Zabini spat. "But then _he_ had to come and make everything exponentially worse!"

"You're being melodramatic," Draco said, his voice low. Then, turning to Harry, he motioned to the Floo. "Would you please leave for now?"

Harry nodded and took a fistful of Floo powder, his heart racing in his chest and his face flushed. He wasn't entirely sure what was going on, but it was fairly clear that it had something to do with him.

"Before you leave," Zabini said, interrupting Harry's confused thoughts, "I have something I want to ask you."

"Blaise—"

"Shut up, Draco." Zabini eyed Harry, his dislike for him clear on his face. "What are you to Draco?"

"Excuse me?" Harry said, his grip on the Floo powder tightening as his heart thundered away in his chest.

"You heard me," Zabini growled and pointed at the blond. "What is your relationship with this man?"

"We're friends," Harry said without hesitation. Then, glancing towards Draco, he added softly, "I hope."

Draco's expression softened and he looked almost apologetic, but Zabini didn't seem satisfied. "Are you really?" he asked, taking a step towards Harry. "Because from what I've seen, you seem to have more ulterior motives for befriending Draco."

Harry frowned. "What exactly are you getting at, Zabini?"

"You know _exactly_ what I'm getting at," Zabini said through gritted teeth. "Isn't it convenient that Draco's always here to solve all your problems when you need him?"

"Blaise!" Draco exclaimed again, his expression furious. "Stop with this nonsense! I won't have you accusing my friends of things they've never done!"

"You say that now, but I'm sure you've had the same thought before," Zabini said to Draco.

The blond opened his mouth but seemed unable to retort. Zabini turned back to Harry, apparently satisfied that he had rendered Draco momentarily speechless. "Well?"

"Look," Harry said, glancing between the two men. "I don't know what's going on between you both, and I obviously came at a wrong time, but whatever it is, I don't want to be dragged into it." He took another step towards the fireplace. "I'll leave you two to sort things out between yourselves."

As Harry tossed the green powder into the fireplace, focusing all of his energy on not losing it, he heard Zabini mutter, "Would you look at that? He can't even argue because it's the truth."

Harry spun around and grabbed Zabini by the front of his shirt, a wave of anger momentarily overpowering common sense. _Who the hell are you to stand here, judging us and passing comments on our relationship?_ Harry wanted to demand, but, instead, he said, "The reason I'm not defending myself is because it _is_ true. Draco has been an unbelievable help, and I cannot even begin to thank him for all he's done for me. But I won't have you belittle our relationship just because you disapprove of it."

Zabini pushed Harry away and straightened his collar, scoffing in disgust. "And what have you done for him in return besides getting him into endless trouble?"

Harry clenched his fists and bit his tongue, knowing that anything he said would only make him look worse. _After all, it_ is _the truth, isn't it?_ his mind supplied helpfully.

Draco came to stand in front of Harry and put a hand on Blaise's shoulder as he said, "Thank you for your concern, but everything I did, I did of my own volition. Harry didn't force me or coerce me into any of it."

"He didn't have to, did he?" Zabini spat, shrugging Draco's hand off. "After all, you've always been smitten with Wonder Boy here, haven't you?" When Draco only went rigid in response, Zabini smirked in contempt. "Who would've thought that you would never grow out of it?" He looked at Harry over Draco's shoulder and said, "Don't you think that's utterly sad and pathetic?"

Before Harry could react, Draco said in an almost inaudible voice, "Get out."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Get _out. Now."_

Blaise's expression grew dark and he barked out a harsh laugh. "Really? You're kicking _me_ out?"

When the blond didn't respond, Blaise just scoffed and strode over to the fireplace, hitting Harry's shoulder with his along the way. He stepped into the already ignited flames and said bitterly, "I see now where your loyalties lie. Don't come crying to me later on, when it turns out I was right."

Harry watched as the flames engulfed Zabini, and he disappeared, leaving the two men in painfully awkward silence.

"I'm sorry," both men said simultaneously, and Draco let out a short laugh.

"That one was on me. You have nothing to apologise for."

"But I do," Harry said, reaching out a hand. When Draco flinched away, Harry swallowed thickly and said, "I'm so sorry for this morning. I promise you that nothing of that sort will ever happen again as long as I can help it."

"I know," Draco replied with a small smile, although he didn't meet Harry's eyes. "Like I said before, I know you aren't at fault for what happened, and I can see that you're really beating yourself up about it. I was upset when it happened, but I'm not so much, now."

"So… you forgive me?"

Draco chuckled, swiping a hand across his tired-looking eyes. "I do."

Harry sighed in relief, feeling like a heavy burden had been lifted off his shoulders. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

They stood in awkward silence for a moment longer, and Harry realised that Draco was looking everywhere but at him. For some reason, it bothered him terribly.

"You won't look at me," he murmured, stepping closer to the blond. Draco took half a step backwards, his gaze focused on the side. "Draco," Harry said, taking a hold of the blond's arms and squeezing gently. "Look at me."

Draco inhaled deeply and hesitated for a moment before finally raising his eyes to meet Harry's. Harry swallowed past the lump in his throat before cracking a small smile. "That's better."

Draco laughed weakly and dropped his gaze again as he placed his hands against Harry's chest, pushing against him gently, but Harry wasn't going to give in. After all the emotional turmoil he had been through in the past day, he wasn't willing to return without doing what he had come to do.

"I lied," he said, causing the blond to look up, "when I said you and I were friends."

"I—I don't underst—"

"I love you, Draco."

Harry watched as the blond's eyes went round, his mouth fell open, and his cheeks coloured. "Wh—Wha—" he stammered, and Harry cracked a smile.

"I realised it the other day, when I left from here. But I think, maybe, that I've always felt this way to some level from even before."

"Wa—Wait," Draco said, straining against Harry's hold. "This—I don't—"

"I know this is rather selfish of me," Harry murmured, pulling the blond even closer. He looked deep into those glistening eyes like liquid silver that he had come to love and said, "But I'm in love with you, Draco. Madly, uncontrollably, terribly in love with you."

Draco half-sighed, half-groaned, his eyelashes fluttering and his breathing shallow as he processed Harry's words. His lips were parted as he stammered incomprehensibly, and Harry couldn't help but chuckle softly as he leaned in and captured Draco's lips.

The kiss was sweet, tender, and lingering, much like their first one had been, and Harry had learnt that it was the simplest way to convey his feelings to the blond. Draco sighed against Harry's lips and tilted his head, deepening the kiss. Harry wound his arms around the blond's waist, belatedly thinking how slim he was, and Draco reciprocated by reaching up and cupping Harry's face in his hands. His palms were cool against Harry's flushed cheeks, and Harry sighed softly as they pulled apart.

Draco was staring at Harry with wide, shimmering eyes, wet, pink lips, and a stunned expression, and Harry found him to be so adorable in that moment that he head to lean in for another kiss. The blond didn't resist; he slipped his hands around Harry neck and curled his fingers in Harry's hair, eliciting a soft groan from the latter.

Harry could sense that things were quickly going from soft and sweet to passionate and hungry, and he hesitated for a moment, unsure of whether to allow things to progress any further. Before he could come to a decision, however, he heard the familiar gushing sound of the Floo, and Draco pulled away, his face going pale. He shoved Harry away, swiping his sleeve across his mouth—much to Harry's chagrin—and stared wide-eyed over Harry's shoulder.

Harry was much too afraid to turn to see who had arrived, although he had an idea about who it could be. As he remained frozen on the spot, watching Draco flounder, Zabini's cold voice said from behind him, "I regret deciding to come back for my coat."

Unable to take Draco's stricken expression of mortification any longer, he slowly turned on his heel, watching as Zabini grabbed his coat off the back of an armchair and strode over to the fireplace. Zabini paused and, without looking at either of them, said, "It seems I was the only one who didn't receive the memo."

Harry blinked, confused, and Zabini finally looked over his shoulder, his lips curled in disgust and his expression one of absolute revulsion. "The memo that says it's perfectly alright for two married men with families, who claim to be nothing more than friends, to be embraced in a passionate snog."

Before Harry could even think of something to say in reply, Zabini turned his gaze to Draco, his expression changing to one of utter disappointment, and he said, almost sadly, "I never once thought giving her to you was a mistake, despite everything. Until now. You disappoint me, Draco."

With that, and the _whoosh_ of the Floo, Zabini was gone.

Harry swallowed thickly, knowing that if he said anything, or even moved, Draco would ask him to leave. So he remained frozen on the spot until Draco shuffled over to the sofa and flopped down on it. He leaned his head back, palms covering his face, and remained unmoving.

Although he was unsure of whether or not the blond wanted him to leave him to his misery, Harry refused to leave Draco alone when he seemed so vulnerable. He wasn't sure what or who Zabini had been talking about in the end, but whatever it was, it had obviously struck a heavy blow to Draco.

"I'll leave, if that's what you really want," Harry said gently as he came to sit beside the blond. "But I'm hoping I can offer you some comfort, at the very least." Then, as an afterthought, he added, "Take this as me trying to repay you for all that you've done for me, if you will."

That apparently worked, because Draco peeked over his fingers at Harry, as though considering if he should believe Harry or not, and then let his arms fall to his side with a deep sigh. He stared up at the ceiling, looking thoroughly exhausted, and Harry had the urge to take him in his arms and hug him until he felt better.

Of course, he didn't do that, because it was clear that that wasn't what Draco needed just then, so Harry remained silent and unmoving, as did Draco, for what seemed like an eternity. When Harry began to wonder if he should say something, the blond finally opened his mouth, and Harry's heart began to race.

"You…" Draco's voice cracked, and he cleared his throat and began again. "You're probably wondering what Blaise was yelling about," he said, and Harry remained silent, waiting for the blond to continue. Draco finally turned to look at Harry and said, "A reporter apparently approached him at his conference this afternoon, asking for his comment on the rumour that the Ministry still suspected that I was hiding Dark artefacts in Malfoy Manor."

Harry nodded, his mind running a mile a minute, and Draco pushed himself upright as he continued. "Blaise, of course, had no idea what she was going on about because I hadn't told him about what had happened." A wave of guilt hit Harry hard as the morning's events replayed in his mind, but he pushed it aside and focused on what Draco was saying. "So he gave her a piece of his mind on what he thought about reporters who would rather gossip about rumours that were completely untrue over more important things."

 _Of course he did,_ Harry thought with a scoff.

"Although he had told the reporter off, considering the rumours had been followed up on before, Blaise came straight to me, demanding why people were trying to dredge up things from the past for no apparent reason. Of course, I had to then explain what had happened—rest assured I made it clear that you had nothing to do with it, although Blaise seemed to believe otherwise—and he was furious. He kept going on and on about how I should cut all ties with you and that I hadn't learnt a single thing from our years at Hogwarts and how you were nothing but trouble…" Draco trailed off with a sigh and shook his head.

"That argument went on for quite some time until he brought up our…" Draco made a vague gesture with his hand, "…relationship.

"What did he say?" Harry asked, despite himself.

Draco didn't answer immediately, causing Harry to jump to the worst conclusions, and when the blond finally said, "Pretty much what you think he said," it only made Harry feel that much worse.

Deciding that he didn't want to go down that path since Zabini's words were still fresh in his mind, Harry kept quiet and waited for Draco to continue.

After a time, the blond said, "Well, he hadn't been lecturing me for all that long when you arrived."

"Sorry 'bout that," Harry said, grimacing when he recalled what had happened.

Draco waved a hand in dismissal. "I'm actually glad you came. Merlin knows how long he would've gone on for otherwise." He laughed, but it sounded forced, and he lapsed back into silence after a moment.

"What—What did he mean at the very end?" Harry asked, despite knowing that Draco probably didn't want to talk about it.

"What do you mean?" Draco asked, fiddling with his cuff link, and Harry shook his head.

"No, never mind," he said, not wanting to force the blond into talking about something he didn't want to. It was frustrating that Draco knew so much about Harry while Harry could barely say the same about the blond, but he didn't want to push his luck—especially just then.

Feeling Draco's gaze on him, Harry looked up, and the blond immediately looked away. Harry bit back a sigh, wondering what to do, when Draco began to speak.

"I…I've never told anyone this story—not even Astoria—and you probably have to get back to work—"

"No," Harry said quickly, despite the fact that he _did_ need to get back to the office. But the fact that Draco was opening up to him overweighed any investigation or whatever, and Harry belatedly wondered if it was alright to prioritise the blond to that extent. He quickly pushed that thought aside as he said, "No, tell me."

Draco hesitated and then sighed in a way that made Harry feel like he was imposing on the blond, and then said, "You probably know this because it was all over the news, but, right after the war, Blaise and Daphne Greengrass, Astoria's sister, got engaged. It was more political than anything; both the Greengrasses and Gisella—Blaise's mother—wanted to use the other's name, status and image to safeguard themselves from the media and the public's scrutiny."

"Of course, no one had expected that Blaise and Daphne would hit it off so well. They both have similar personalities and shared interests, so it didn't take long for them to become the best of friends." Draco shook his head, a small smile on his lips. "Blaise adored Daphne and wouldn't stop talking about her whenever he and I met. She was good for him, that much anybody could see. Whether consciously or not, they both relied on each other to heal their wounds, and it was having a positive effect on them, as well as their families.

"So, one fine day, after Blaise's continued insistence on me meeting Daphne, I agreed. Little had I known then that Blaise and Daphne had set it up so Astoria and I would meet with the intention of us getting together. Astoria was a very shy, soft-spoken, well-mannered girl, and she somehow had a soothing aura around her that—till today—relaxed me. It was only later that Blaise told me that he and Astoria were good friends because of how much time he spent at the Greengrass mansion, and that she had confessed that she had been smitten with me since the time we were in Hogwarts."

Draco sighed and shook his head again, the nostalgic smile having been replaced by a sad frown. "Back then… all I did was wallow in self-hatred and pity. So when Astoria came along to shower me with her kindness and affection, I clung onto her empathy with all my might, like my life depended on it. I was so selfish, Harry," he muttered, hanging his head. "All I thought about was myself and my mistakes and my stupid choices and if I could ever redeem myself. I had fallen so deep in my self-loathing and depression that I didn't acknowledge anything or anybody else. I just lived every day like it was my last, hoping that I would disappear in some tragic accident because I was too much of a coward to end my own life."

He laughed shakily, and Harry swallowed, stunned by how real and relatable Draco's experiences were. It reinforced the fact that he was indeed human, just like Harry was, and hammered in the fact that he had always seen the blond as Draco Malfoy, the arrogant, seemingly unconquerable nemesis of his, in much the same way the rest of the wizarding world had seen Harry as the Boy Who Lived, who was indestructible and the vanquisher of all evil. Yet the reality of the situation was the exact opposite. They were just two ordinary wizards whose lives were interconnected by some twist of fate, or coincidence, or destiny, or whatever one wanted to call it.

Yet the reality of the situation was the exact opposite. They were just two ordinary wizards whose lives were interconnected by some twist of fate, or coincidence, or destiny, or whatever one wanted to call it.

"Despite that, Astoria was always there, by my side," Draco continued, pulling Harry out of his thoughts. "She never once gave up on me, even in the worst of times." He looked up then, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears and his expression so raw that it physically hurt Harry. "She saved me, Harry. She saved me when nobody else would; when I thought that I deserved to rot away in a rank prison cell for everything I had done. I mean, who does that?" he said, laughing shakily again. "How can you have so much faith and trust and believe in someone who had wronged so many people his whole life?" He leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees and rubbing his face with his hands to dry his eyes.

"Astoria was the one who encouraged me to pursue my dream to become a Mind Healer," he continued with a sniff. "When I told her that I didn't have the right after everything I had done, she yelled at me and told me to get over myself. She told me that if I really did want to redeem myself, then helping people through similar situations was the best form of repentance than anything. She helped me slowly but surely get back on my feet and work towards my goal, always standing behind me to support me when I was about to fall back down.

"Finally, once I had cleared my head of thoughts of suicide and whatnot, I went about contacting my friends with the intention of re-establishing relationships I had completely shut myself away from. Again, this was all thanks to Astoria—and Blaise, who, now that I think about it, would probably have given up on me ages ago if not for Astoria." He sat back and turned to Harry, the soft light from the incandescent lamps dancing in the back of his eyes. "I started meeting Blaise more often. Since Daphne was away, pursuing her further studies, it was almost always the three of us, Blaise, Astoria and I, who spent time together.

"It was then that I started to notice the changes in Blaise." Draco's eyes darkened when he turned his head away in the slightest and the light previously illuminating them disappeared. "It would have been fairly obvious, if I had paid more attention before. Whenever he was around Astoria, his demeanour would change. He laughed more openly, his comments were light and joking rather than blunt and sarcastic like they usually are, he paid close attention to whatever she said and did, hanging onto her every word like he would suffer grave consequences if he missed even the smallest detail. And the way he looked at her…"

Draco shook his head and placed a hand on his face, almost shamefully. "Anybody would've seen it, even if they spent a quarter of an hour with the two of them." He looked up at Harry, a myriad of emotions swimming in his grey eyes. "Blaise was so in love with Astoria that it hurt to see the way his gaze followed her around, almost reverently. I don't think he had even realised it himself, at that point, and being the coward that I was, I was afraid to confront him about it, lest I lose the two people whom I considered the most important to me."

He shrugged a shoulder, as though the matter never concerned him to begin with. "So I ignored it. I pretended like it didn't bother me how much time the two of them spent together; I pretended I didn't notice how his touch lingered more than it should; I pretended I wasn't bothered by the fact that the woman I was engaged to was more comfortable going to my so-called best friend for advice than me." Draco had a far-off look in his eyes, like he was re-living all those painful moments again as he continued to speak. "But I could only look away and pretend like his feelings for her weren't suffocating me. And I did so, for so long. But before I had the chance to confront him, though, Daphne returned, and the moment he saw her sister and her fiancee together, she broke.

"She demanded an explanation from him, and he unashamedly confessed his love for Astoria, saying that he cared deeply for Daphne, but that it was more a platonic love than a romatic one. Once Daphne had calmed down, Blaise asked her to break off their engagement, convincing her that her feelings for him were that of a younger brother than a lover, and her anger was only because she felt betrayed, not because she was in love with him." Draco sighed. "I didn't know any of this had happened until Blaise came to me and told me that his and Daphne's engagement had gone up in flames and that she was apparently moving to Egypt to pursue the man of her dreams. I gave him my sympathies, as was expected of me, and he started to pressurise me into marrying Astoria before either of us had a change of heart."

Draco paused then, for so long that Harry had to ask a question to get him to speak again. "Did you? Get married, I mean?"

Draco chuckled. "Well, obviously."

Harry flushed, embarrassed. "That's not what I meant."

"I know," Draco said, shooting him a small smile. "When Blaise's pestering got out of hand, I finally confronted him about his feelings for Astoria and if that was why he was pressurising me into marrying her."

"Was it?"

Draco nodded. "He confessed that he was in love with her, but promised that he would never let her know or act on it, being the loyal friend that he was, because she was my fiance. And you know what I did?"

Harry swallowed thickly, realising there was no point in stalling since Draco's Pandora's Box was already open and all his deepest, darkest secrets were spilling out. "What?"

Draco smiled, although it looked more like a pained grimace, and said, "I did the worst possible thing a friend could do. Despite knowing how Blaise felt for her, and having an inkling of a doubt that Astoria probably felt the same way for him to an extent, even if she refused to admit it, _and_ knowing that they would be so happy together, I did what Blaise said I should." He inhaled deeply and sighed, a forlorn expression on his face. "I married her."

Harry shook his head slowly, knowing that even if he didn't say anything, Draco fully understood how terrible what he had done was.

"I told you, I'm a selfish man. She was my life line; the anchor that kept me grounded and the life preserver that kept me afloat. Without her altruistic nature and her unconditional support, I knew I wouldn't last very long. I needed her, more than I had needed anything my entire life, and in a moment of utter desperation and unwillingness to lose her, I made sure that Blaise would never be able to take her away from me."

"Did," Harry began, hesitant, "Did Zabini ever find out?" From what Zabini had said, Harry felt like he must have found out. Otherwise, why would he have made a statement like that?

Draco bowed his head, watching his clasped hands as he played with his fingernails. "I told him about it—in a letter, of course, because that was how much of a pathetic coward I was."

Harry remained silent for a long time, processing everything Draco had told him. After a while, Draco looked up, a beseeching expression on his face. "You must think me the worst sort of person, don't you?"

"No, not the worst sort, but close," Harry replied honestly, because that was pretty much what was going on in his mind just then. Draco laughed, sounding tired, and rubbed his eyes with his fingers.

"Well, at least you were honest about it."

"You were, too. Although that doesn't justify what you did, it makes you less of an arsehole, I suppose."

Draco nodded. "Fair enough."

After a time of watching the blond sit with his head bowed, Harry asked, "Did you love her?"

"Very much," Draco replied immediately, much to Harry's relief. "And I still do; dearly." When he looked up to meet Harry's eyes, it was almost as though he knew what Harry was going to say next.

"Were you in love with her?"

Draco smiled, a sad, pained smile that showed how much the question hurt him. "No, not in the way you're thinking."

Harry inhaled deeply. "Were you ever in love with her?"

Draco laughed again, but it sounded like a sob, and he hung his head. He didn't answer for so long that Harry thought he wouldn't at all, until he looked up, his eyes the usual, glittering silver.

"Not in the way I'm in love with you, no."

Harry's breath caught in his throat and his heart began to beat a mile a minute. Common sense flew out the window, and he leaned forward, cursing under his breath as he grabbed Draco by the back of his neck and pulled the blond towards him, crashing their lips together.

Draco reacted instantaneously by wrapping his arms around Harry's waist and pulling him closer. Harry tightened his grip on Draco's neck and the blond gasped, allowing Harry to slip his tongue into the blond's mouth. A tongue war then ensued, intertwining, pulling away, clashing against each other. Draco raked his nails up Harry's back, sending a shiver down the later's spine, and in a moment of dominance, Harry grabbed the blond around his waist and pulled him onto his lap, toppling both of them onto the sofa.

Draco gasped again, unable to push himself up because his limbs were intertwined with Harry's, so they just remained as they were, awkwardly sprawled across the sofa, faces inches apart, breath mingling together as they panted, staring deep into each other's eyes as countless thoughts swam through their minds.

"Say it again," Harry said breathlessly, pulling his hand from under Draco's neck to caress his cheek and rub his thumb across the blond's lower lip.

Draco didn't even need a second to figure out what Harry was talking about as he said softly, "I'm in love with you, Harry Potter. Happy now?"

"Unbelievably," Harry whispered as he kissed Draco again, long and slow, forgetting everything that was happening: his woes and worries, his job, the investigation, his family, Draco's family, what Zabini had said, Draco's heart-felt confession—everything.

He pulled away and nestled his head in the crook of Draco's neck, sighing when the blond ran cool fingers through his hair. "What have you done to me?" he muttered against Draco's skin, feeling the blond tremble beneath him as he chuckled.

"Only what you've done to me for so, so long."

His impulsiveness still going strong, Harry bit down on the supple skin of Draco's neck, hard, causing the blond to cry out in surprise, and sucked on the spot for a moment before placing a kiss on it.

"You git!" Draco exclaimed, smacking him atop the head. "That's going to leave a mark!"

"Not my fault you're so pale," Harry replied with a cheeky grin.

"Harry!"

"Oh, come on. A simple disillusionment charm will cover it up until it's gone. There's no reason to overreact."

Draco had gone red in the face and he started to struggle against Harry, but Harry, having learned martial arts in his years as an Auror, was able to pin him down despite the fact that Draco wasn't much shorter than Harry, even if he was more slender.

As he laughed at the swear words pouring out of Draco's mouth, his back pocket vibrated, and a shrill ringing effectively ended the moment of playfulness. Knowing who was calling, Harry sat back with a sigh and answered the call with an, "I'll be there in two minutes."

"Good, because our boss isn't very impressed by your constant disappearing acts," Hermione's voice said before the line went dead.

"Shite," Harry swore as he rose to his feet and straightened out his robes. Turning to Draco, who still had a somewhat dazed and disheveled appearance, he bent down and pecked him on the lips before saying, "I have to go. I'll call you in the evening."

"Are you in trouble?" the blond asked, looking so wide-eyed and lost that Harry had the urge to hug him and pat him on the head. _Stop it,_ he scolded himself, embarrassed by his own urges.

"I'm _always_ in trouble," Harry said as he grabbed a fistful of Floo powder and threw it into the fireplace.

"Right."

There was a knock on the door, and both men glanced towards it before Harry turned back to Draco and said, "Well, bye then."

After a moment of consideration, he leaned in for another kiss, which Draco gladly reciprocated, and quickly stepped into the fireplace, noticing that the door was being pushed open out of the corner of his eye.

 _Bloody hell,_ he thought, hoping that whoever it was hadn't caught them kissing. Draco shot him a panicked look as the flames engulfed him, allowing him to escape from one awkward situation to another.

 _We really have to stop snogging in his office,_ Harry thought as he stepped out of the Floo and eyed the group of people in his office. As he put on his Auror smile and greeted his boss, he couldn't help but think that his concern was _where_ he was kissing Draco, not the fact that they were kissing.

 _I really need to sort out my priorities,_ he thought as he began to explain himself to the group.

* * *

 **A/n: Is that the longest scene I've ever written? Probably is. It's about 6,500 words, which is how long some of my other chapters are, believe it or not. I thought about breaking it in-between, when Harry leaves to Antares, but it didn't make sense to have a time-skip there when only a minute or so has passed.**

 ** _Confession_ : Sometimes I feel like the emotions in this story are really exaggerated and overdone, and I try to tone them down, but then I immediately feel like they're not strong enough. So I decided to keep them that way, even if they seem too much sometimes, because when you have such strong feelings towards a person or a situation, you're bound to exaggerate even the smallest of things and make them out to be much worse than they actually are. Am I right or am I right?**

 _ **Question:**_ **How do you feel about the memory charm thing? It's something I've always wondered about, considering the Ministry has no branches or anything like that and is literally the only place where all the secrets lie (other than Hogwarts, of course, psht). And do you think Hermione suggested that Harry use it for his own personal reasons of her own accord, or do you think somebody ordered her to get him to do it?**

 _ **Leave a** **review!**_ **Don't forget to leave a review with your thoughts and opinions! They're very important to me and I always make it a habit to reply to my reviewers! (To those who haven't gotten a reply from me: blame it on FFN, it has issues.)**

 **Thank you for reading, following and favouriting this story!**

 **Lots of love,**

 **Arty xx**


	39. 39 Lies: Slice of Life Moments

**A/n: Another super late update, I know, but real life is so hectic right now. My great grandmother passed away and my grandmother is ill, plus all the other normal adult shit that I don't wanna deal with. Super sorry. I really want to update frequently but one way or the other I'm unable to.**

 **I'm determined to post the next chapter before Christmas, so fingers crossed that happens.**

 **Sorry for the wait! Here's chapter 39! (Also crappy title, I know, my brain is literally on overdrive agh my apologies orz)**

* * *

 **Chapter 39**

 **Slice of Life Moments**

* * *

 **[December 3 2011]**

 **7:30 PM**

"So, it's all taken care of, now?" Harry's boss asked, his trademark frown on his face.

"Yessir," Harry said, holding back the urge to sigh. "Mr Malfoy has accepted our heartfelt apology and will not make any attempts to sue."

Jacob Byron grunted, looking as unhappy as ever, his arms crossed and his posture stiff. "And you're alright to address the media first thing Monday?"

"Yessir."

"Good." He nodded to Hermione and Buxley and motioned for his secretary as he made his way to the door.

There were collective sighs of relief the moment the door shut, and the trio smiled at each other. "It's so stressful being within arm's length of him," Hermione said as she pulled her hair free from its tight bun.

"Never changes, that man," Buxley added, shaking his head.

"There's a reason he's the head of the DMLE," Harry said, stretching. "You guys'll be there for the press conference, right?"

"Obviously," Hermione said. "We're more important than you are, after all. All you've probably got to do is give a closing statement, so don't mess up."

Harry rolled his eyes and shot Buxley a look, to which his deputy only grinned in return. "She's right, boss. All you've been doing lately is running off somewhere. Where _do_ you go, anyway?"

"To do… stuff," Harry said, and Hermione rolled her eyes with a scoff.

"Alright, you two. Head home. It's been a long week; we all deserve a good night's rest," she said, waving her hand.

"Can't wait to tell the lads they get their weekend after all," Buxley said as they headed out of Harry's office. He nodded to the two of them. "Night, boss, Mrs Weasley."

"Night, Buxley."

"Goodnight, Buxley."

They watched him walk away before making their way out of the Auror Office. Just as they exited, cheers erupted from inside, and Harry couldn't help but smile.

"You'd think they just received the best news ever, listening to them cheer," Hermione said with a chuckle.

"Well, they _did._ You know exactly what it feels like to be told that the weekend you thought you'd spend at the office can now be spent at home."

"Well…" Hermione said, shrugging.

Harry snorted. "My bad. I forgot what a workaholic you were."

"Hey! I like my job!"

"Sssh!" Harry said, pressing his palm against her mouth. "Don't let anybody hear you say that!"

Hermione slapped his hand away, and Harry laughed as he pressed the little button to call the lift.

"So, what plans for tomorrow?" he asked as they stepped into the lift.

"Mm. Nothing much. 'Suppose I'll clean the house and spend time with Ron and the kids."

"That's a great plan," Harry said as they stepped aside to let more people on.

"What about you?"

"I'll probably sleep until noon—"

"Of course you will."

"—and then spend time with Ginny and the kids," Harry finished, shooting her a look.

"Great plan," Hermione said, nodding solemnly.

They shared a look before bursting out laughing, sobering down only when they received weird looks from the others. As they stepped out and made their way to the Floos, Harry said, "We should meet up for dinner. It's been a while."

"Oh, yes! That would be lovely. The kids will be thrilled."

"They will."

They stood in comfortable silence as they waited in the queue. After a time, Hermione asked softly, "How're you sleeping these days?"

"Very well, actually," Harry replied.

"That's good."

They stepped forward and Harry leant sideways to count the number of people before them when Hermione asked, "Was it Malfoy?"

She could've meant a dozen things, but from her previous question, Harry concluded that she was asking if Draco was the one who had helped with his nightmares.

He nodded. "Yeah. He's a Mind Healer, you know. Has his own establishment and everything."

"Oh, wow."

"Surprised?"

"Very. Never quite pictured him to be a Mind Healer."

"It actually suits him quite a bit," Harry said, smiling fondly at the memory of their first few interactions.

"I see."

When Hermione didn't say anything more, Harry glanced at her sideways. "That's it?"

"What else do you want me to say?"

He shrugged. "I thought you'd have a lot of things to ask me."

She didn't respond immediately. As they stepped forward, she said, "And I thought you'd have a lot of things to tell me."

 _I'm in love with him, for starters,_ Harry thought as he ran a hand through his hair. "Well… although he looks the same, he's like an entirely different person."

"Different how?" Hermione asked promptly.

 _And so it begins,_ Harry thought wryly as he answered. "Different… different. He's… kinder. Gentler. He smiles and laughs a lot. And it's very easy to talk to him."

"Are you sure you're talking about the same Draco Malfoy?" Hermione asked, her tone sceptical.

Harry laughed. "I knew you'd say that. But yeah. He's really changed." As an afterthought, he added, "Actually, I think you'd quite like him. There's been so many times that I've thought to myself, 'Merlin, if only Hermione were here to hear this'."

She hummed in thought, and they took another step forward. "Does Ginny know?" Hermione asked, causing Harry to sigh.

"She knows we're friends, but she doesn't know that he's my mind healer, no."

"And she's OK with you both being friends?"

"Why wouldn't she be?"

Hermione shrugged. "Well, Malfoy wasn't exactly any of our favourite back in school. Least of all yours."

"Like I said—"

"Yeah, I got that," she interrupted, waving a hand. "I'm not saying it's a bad thing that you're friends. Actually, it's pretty great that you were able to put the past behind you and become such good friends."

"Well, he's helped me in ways you couldn't imagine," Harry said softly, wondering if his wording had made it sound weird.

"I can see that," Hermione replied just as softly, tucking her hair behind her ear. "I suppose I'm just surprised that you never came to me about it sooner."

"…Sorry 'bout that."

She waved her hand in dismissal again. "It's fine. Just… don't forget that keeping one too many secrets will lead to your inevitable downfall."

"Thank you for the morbid warning," Harry replied with a chuckle as he came to stand before the Floo. "I'll see you tomorrow, then?"

"See you tomorrow," Hermione said, giving him a quick hug.

He smiled at her before stepping into the Floo and closing his eyes. As the familiar nausea enveloped him, he wondered if he had made an unnecessarily big deal out of the whole meeting-a-Mind-Healer thing than it actually was.

 _Maybe Ginny wouldn't think too badly of me if I tell her now, especially since I'm doing so much better than I was a few weeks ago…_

He sighed as he stepped out of the Floo and into his study, tossed his coat and tie onto the stand by the door, and exited the room. Glancing into the empty master bedroom as he strode past, he registered the excited laughter of the kids from downstairs and couldn't help but smile.

"I'm home," he called as he made his way down the stairs, and the laughter paused momentarily before the kids burst out of the living room to greet him.

"Yay! You're back!" James cheered as he promptly began to scale up Harry, causing the latter to get down on one knee to retain his balance.

"Easy there, tiger," Harry said with a laugh as James perched atop his shoulders.

"Daddyyy," Albus whined as he tugged at his brother's trousers. "It's my turn!"

"Early bird gets the worm!" James said, sticking his tongue out at the younger boy.

"Daddyyy!" Lily said, in a perfect imitation of Albus, as she jumped up and down beside Harry and clung to him.

"Alright, alright," he said, pulling the two kids closer and hoisting them up as he struggled to his feet.

The trio immediately bombarded him with what they had been up to in the time Harry was busy, and he chuckled as he made his way to the living room. He nearly tripped at the doorway, however. One, because he was once again reminded that his kids were no longer small and lightweight anymore; two, because there was a little blond boy standing in his way and staring up at him with wide, blue eyes; and three, because his wife was seated on the sofa with a strange man leaning over her, their faces inches apart from each other.

Unable to react to all three at the same time, Harry set his kids down and smiled down at Dan. "Hullo."

Dan eyed him for a moment before running around him and hiding behind James—who was much bigger than the other boy, Harry couldn't help but notice, despite them being the same age—and it was so reminiscent of what Albus used to do when he was younger that he involuntarily felt a pang of nostalgic affection before remembering that Dan wasn't his son.

"You're finally home," Ginny said as she came to hug him and kiss him on the cheek, distracting him from his confused reaction towards Dan.

"What's wrong with your eye?" he asked with a frown as she blinked her left eye rapidly.

"Something must've gotten in," she muttered rubbing it.

"Don't," Harry said, pulling her hand away. Her eye was red and watering, and his frown grew deeper with worry.

"It's nothing," Ginny said with a smile. "Matt already took a look earlier and said it's just irritated because I've been rubbing it. He worked under a Healer for some time," she added, as though Harry cared about that useless bit of information. He was more interested in knowing when he had become _Matt,_ ignoring his rational mind as it added sense to the scene he had witnessed as he had entered.

"Why's he here anyway?" Harry asked in a low voice, jerking his head in the direction of the brunet standing a little away. When Mathew smiled at him, he returned the smile more out of habit than because he was happy to see the fellow again.

"Yeah, well," Ginny replied in an equally quiet voice, dusting his shoulder absently, "Matt and I have been in touch ever since the whole Greg thing, and he was having problems getting Dan to speak or be comfortable around him and his mum, so I thought maybe if Dan spent some time with the kids, he'd feel more at home."

"Right," Harry said, watching the kids play. Dan did, in fact, look happy and at ease, so he couldn't really dispute Ginny's decision. "You should've told me," he said, though, because he couldn't just let it go like the mature adult he was supposed to be.

"I know, but you've been so busy," Ginny said, fiddling with the collar of his Auror robes. "I didn't think it was important enough to bother you."

Harry sighed, knowing she was being considerate of him and his work and that there really wasn't any point starting a fight because he was feeling petty. So he nodded and stepped back, mostly because her unnecessary fussing was starting to annoy him than because Mathew was just standing in the middle of the room awkwardly, looking anywhere but at them.

"Good to see you again, Mr Hopkins. How have you been?"

"Please, Mr Potter, Mr Hopkins was my father. Call me Mathew," he said as he came closer to shake Harry's hand with both of his. "And I've been wonderful. Thank you for asking." He stepped back, his hands clasped in front of him and his head slightly bowed, as though he was talking to someone far more superior than him. It made Harry uncomfortable.

"The same goes for me, then," Harry said as he clapped the man on the shoulder and motioned to the sofas. "Please, call me Harry."

They settled down, Mathew on the lone armchair and Harry on the settee. "So, what do you do, Mathew?" Harry asked as he picked up a mug of steaming tea off the table.

"Harry, wait, that's Matt's," Ginny interrupted, grabbing the mug from him.

Harry frowned. "Oh… sorry. That's my mug, so I thought…"

"Oh, no, please," Mathew said, taking the mug from Ginny and holding it out to Harry. "I don't really drink tea anyway."

Harry saw Ginny make a surprised face out of the corner of his eye as he took the mug from Mathew with a smile and placed it back on the table. Mathew eyed the mug, but didn't say anything.

"Would you like some coffee?" Harry asked, looking up at his wife. Ginny's cheeks coloured—probably from embarrassment for assuming that Mathew preferred tea, although she wasn't completely at fault for doing so. _I mean, who doesn't drink tea?_ Harry thought.

"Oh, no, I couldn't bother Ginny again," Mathew said, his politeness beginning to irk Harry.

"It's no bother at all," Ginny replied, placing a hand on Mathew's shoulder for a moment longer than Harry appreciated.

 _What's wrong with you?_ Harry asked himself. It was almost as though he was projecting his guilt onto his wife and questioning every single thing she did. _Stop it. This isn't like you._

"Harry?"

"Hm?" he said, shaking his head free of unwanted thoughts.

"Would you like some coffee too?"

"No, just a glass of milk for me. I'm going to go to bed soon so I don't want anything to keep me up for longer than necessary."

Ginny nodded, picked Harry's mug from the table, and bustled away, leaving Harry and Mathew alone in awkward silence.

"So, how's the paperwork and everything going?"

"Oh, it's going good," Mathew said, smiling. There was just something so child-like and innocent about his smile that it frustrated Harry. "I should hopefully be able to get an appointment with Child Services once the investigation is done."

Harry hummed in thought, debating if he should say what he was thinking. Just as Ginny arrived with three mugs, Harry said, "Why don't you come over for dinner tomorrow? Hermione and Ron are coming over too, and Hermione should be able to help you."

Ginny looked up sharply at the invitation, and wore a confused frown as Harry finished speaking. _Hermione and Ron are coming over tomorrow?_ Her expression asked, and Harry nodded.

She offered Mathew and Harry their respective mugs—Harry was pleased to see that she had replaced the tea in his mug with warm milk—and sat down beside Harry.

Dan came over to show Mathew something just then, and Ginny grabbed Harry by the shoulder and leaned closer to whisper, "What's this about 'Mione and Ron coming over?"

"I told Hermione that she should bring Ron and the kids over tomorrow since it's been so long," he murmured, glancing sideways at her. "Why, is it a problem?"

"Of course not, but a little forewarning would've been good, you know?" she whispered back furiously, her grip on Harry's shoulder tightening.

"I've barely been home fifteen minutes, Ginny, when exactly did you expect me to tell you?" Harry snapped back, unsure of why his wife was overreacting.

"Before inviting Matt over, too," she hissed, her eyes flashing, and Harry bit back a sigh.

"I thought he could ask Hermione for help since she has contacts everywhere, especially with the departments that deal with rescue and protection—Child Services included," Harry whispered, glancing towards Mathew to make sure he wasn't listening. "Why're you being so high-strung about this?"

"I'm not," Ginny said through gritted teeth, moving away and smiling brightly.

Harry turned to see that both Mathew and Dan were looking at them, and Mathew said, "Well, I think it's time for us to take our leave."

"Already?" Ginny asked, her voice more high-pitched than normal. She cleared her throat, flushing slightly.

"It's been lovely spending time with you and the kids," Mathew told Ginny as he rose to his feet. "I really am sorry for imposing this long."

"It's no imposition at all," Ginny said, standing up as well. "There's really no need to be so formal."

Mathew laughed awkwardly and looked down at Dan, who was staring at Ginny in a way that unnerved Harry. "Alright, Danny, what do we say?"

"Can I come again to play?" Dan asked, and the adults chuckled.

"Of course you can, sweetheart," Ginny said, tousling his hair.

"What else do we say?" Mathew prompted again, and Dan looked from Harry to Ginny and back.

"Thank you."

"You're very welcome, darling," Ginny replied, leaning down to hug the boy. "Come back to play any time you want, OK?"

"Yeah!" James said, poking his head into the living room. "You have to come back so we can defeat the evil wizards!"

Lily walked around her brother and to Dan to hand him a little stuffed Hippogriff. "Gimme it back when you come again, kay?"

"Thanks Lily," Dan said, bending down to kiss her on the head. Lily beamed.

Albus came to stand beside his sister and held a hand out, his cheeks a furious red. "Bye Danny," he said with a little sniffle, immediately causing James to break into song about cry-babies.

"Alright, alright," Ginny said, ushering the trio aside as Mathew helped Dan with his coat. "Say goodnight, you lot."

"Goodnight Uncle Mathew! Goodnight Danny!"

Harry raised his eyebrows at Ginny, and she rolled her eyes. "He gets children to calm him Uncle so he can build a comfortable relationship with them—or so he says."

"Creep," Harry muttered, promptly receiving a jab in his side from his wife.

"Thank you again for having us over, Ginny," Mathew said, giving Ginny a quick hug.

"It was my pleasure. And," she said as Mathew grabbed a fistful of Floo powder, "talk to me. Don't be a stranger."

She smiled, smoothing down the lapels of his coat before stepping away and causing Harry to hold back the urge to slap his forehead. Ginny's habit of molly-coddling people was exactly like her mother's, even if she got upset every time one of her siblings or Harry mentioned so.

"It was such a pleasure seeing you again, Mr Potter," Mathew said, shaking Harry's hand again.

"Harry," Harry replied with a smile. "Just Harry."

"Right. Er. I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"Bye, Matt. Bye, Daniel!"

"Bye Ginny!"

They watched as the duo disappeared in green flames. As soon as they were gone, the kids returned to their usual antics, and Ginny chased behind them, telling them to put away their toys and get ready for bed.

Harry sighed, rubbing his eyes with one hand as he waved his wand with the other and Summoned all the toys. Once they were all in their box, he closed it shut, chuckling at the woe-begotten expressions on his children's faces.

"Alright, off to bed, you lot," Ginny said, ushering them out. She looked over her shoulder and Harry followed after her, flicking his wand to turn off all the lights.

"I get to pick tonight!" Albus declared, racing up the stairs and to his room, followed by his siblings.

"No fair!" Lily whined. "My turn!"

"Lily, you picked yesterday!" James said, grabbing his sister and ruffling her hair with all his might.

Lily screeched and bit James' arm, running away as the older boy yelled and chased after her.

Ginny and Harry stood at the top of the stairs as they watched their kids' shenanigans, both sighing tiredly at the thought of getting the trio to go to bed. Ginny nudged Harry towards their room. "Go. I'll take care of them."

"You sure?" he muttered, yawning wide, and Ginny chuckled.

"You're more likely to fall asleep before them. Go, you're exhausted," she said, kissing him on the cheek.

"Mm." He pinched her nose affectionately and pressed a kiss to her forehead before plodding down the hallway and to the bedroom, calling goodnight to his shrieking kids along the way. He shut the door, smiling as Ginny tried to make herself be heard over their shouting.

Taking only a moment to strip and get into his nightwear, he tossed his wand to the side and fell face first on the bed, groaning at the coolness of the bedspread beneath him. With a sigh, he pulled off he glasses and placed them somewhere above him, unwilling to put any more effort into moving. No sooner had he closed his eyes, he was fast asleep.

* * *

 **[December 4 2011]**

 **12:46 PM**

He awoke as though from the dead, sleep still clouding his senses and exhaustion clinging to his bones. Barely even registering getting freshened up and dressed, he staggered down the stairs and into the living room, yawning loudly.

"Well, well, look who decided to grace us with his presence."

Harry blinked, a slow grin spreading across his face as Ron strode up to him with his arms held wide open. He engulfed Harry in a bear hug, thumping him on the back. Harry laughed and pulled away, smiling at his best friend.

"Good to see you too, mate. It's been a while."

"What to do," Ron said, shrugging dramatically. "'Tis the fate of one who befriended the hero of the world."

Harry rolled his eyes as he walked up to the kitchen isle, where Ginny and Hermione were busy cooking, chattering away and laughing happily.

"Smells so good," Harry said, inhaling deeply as he draped his arms over Hermione's shoulders.

Hermione laughed, pausing in her potato-chopping to pat him on the cheek. "You sure kept your word, huh?"

"Didn't wake up a minute sooner," he said as he went around to kiss Ginny on the cheek. "What're you guys making?"

"As if you care," Ginny said, waving her ladle at him as he wound his arms around her waist and placed his chin on her shoulder with a sigh.

"You're right," he said, even as he compared the curves of her waist to Draco's slim one. "Did you get fat?" he asked, earning a very warranted jab in his stomach from his wife. "Oof!"

Hermione shook her head, unimpressed. "You still have a long ways to go if you're asking a woman if she's gained weight—not that you have, of course," she added quickly to Ginny, who narrowed her eyes at her.

"Even if that woman is my wife?" he asked, stepping away before Ginny could shove her elbow into his ribs.

" _Especially_ if that woman is your wife!" Ginny said, holding the ladle inches away from his face. "Who do you think feeds you and clothes you?"

"I clothe myself just fine, thank you very much," Harry said as he licked the ladle. "Mm, so good."

"You—are—so—disgusting," Ginny said, shoving him out of the kitchen. "Sit there and be good or no lunch for you!"

Harry shrugged as he walked over to where Ron was reading the paper. "Can you believe them?" he said, flopping down next to the redhead.

Ron snorted. "You never learn, do you?"

They sat in comfortable silence for a while until Harry leaned over to see what Ron was reading. "Looks like the Cannons finally upped their game, huh?"

"About damn time," Ron grumbled. "The way they were going, I was starting to consider rooting for some other team."

"When did you get glasses?" Harry asked, suddenly noticing the slim pair of reading glasses perched atop Ron's narrow nose.

"'Mione wouldn't get off my back until I got a pair," Ron said, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "She thinks my eyesight's going bad, despite there being no evidence of that whatsoever—except maybe a few times when I've squinted to read small letters—so I decided to get a pair just to shut her up."

Harry snorted. "Wives, right?"

"Can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em. 'Specially if they make curry that's as good as Mum's."

Harry laughed at that, his mind idly comparing Ron's reading glasses to Draco's and thinking how good the latter looked with them.

 _I miss him,_ Harry thought, rubbing his neck, embarrassed at the non-verbal admission to himself. _Merlin, I'm so smitten that I can't go a few minutes without thinking about him._

"So I heard about Malfoy," Ron suddenly said, as though reading Harry's thoughts, and for a moment Harry panicked that he actually had.

"What about him?" Harry asked, breathless, his heart thundering in his chest.

"The whole fiasco about him stealing Dark Artefacts and all that nonsense." He shook his head in disgust. "The media'll say anything for the sake of a big scoop."

"Hermione told you?" Harry asked, relaxing and berating himself for his overreaction.

"Nah, Seamus did. 'Pparently that's all anybody's talking about at the station. Said he had to pull in favours to get out of talking about it on his show."

"He knows it's rubbish, right?" Harry asked, ready to defend Draco's name if need be.

"Well, he said he did, but you never know. Malfoy's family's always been into that sort of shady business, and even if he's been laying low since the war, you never know what he does in his down time."

"Whatever he does, it definitely doesn't involve stealing Dark Artefacts, I can tell you that much," Harry said, rather strongly, and Ron put the paper down to eye Harry with a sceptical expression.

"What're you getting your pants in a bunch for? I never said it was true, did I?"

"I know, sorry," Harry said with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I suppose I just understand what it's like for the media to spread completely false information about you and have people accuse you of things you've never done."

It wasn't a complete lie, and Ron seemed to buy it, because he went back to reading the paper with a grunt. Harry watched his best mate briefly, wondering how he would take it if he told Ron about befriending Draco. There really were only two expectable reactions: either he'd explode in anger, or he'd treat it with polite indifference. He may even be accepting of it, but Harry highly doubted that possibility to become reality as an image of Ron puking slugs into a bucket popped into his head.

"If you have something to say then just say it," Ron said, shaking Harry out of his dilemma. Plucking his glasses off his nose, Ron turned to fix blue eyes on Harry, pinning the latter with the intensity of his straightforward gaze.

"Just promise you won't overreact," Harry said, despite himself, and Ron scoffed.

"I'm not a hormone-crazy teenager, mate. Just spit it out already."

Heart hammering away, Harry swallowed thickly and debated for a moment before saying, "Draco and I are friends." Ron's brows drew together in a suspicious frown, and Harry quickly continued. "It happened by pure coincidence, and I was completely against it in the beginning, but when I realised how much he's changed, I decided to put the past behind me and extend a hand in friendship."

Ron said nothing but continued to stare at Harry for a long moment. His mouth was downturned in a frown, but his eyes held no malice or anger. He seemed to be genuinely considering what Harry had said, and that in itself was a relief to Harry.

"What're you both doing?" Hermione said, interrupting the tense moment. "Call the kids in; lunch is ready."

Ron dropped his gaze as he rose to his feet. He stretched, ruffled his hair, and then looked down at Harry. "If it was a decision you made after considering everything he put you through, then nothing I say or think should make a difference."

"Ron," Harry said, almost beseechingly, as he followed the man into the garden.

"Oi! Kids! Come inside, it's time for lunch!" Ron yelled, rubbing his arms as he shivered. "Blimey, it's freezing. How've they been out here for so long?"

"Come quickly or you won't get any pudding!"

"Pudding!" the kids exclaimed as they dropped whatever they were doing and raced inside.

"Hang your coats up and take your shoes off before you come inside!" Ginny called.

Harry helped the kids shed their coats and shoes as Ron shut the door. They watched the kids race to the dining table, arguing about who gets to eat more pudding as though the decision was up to them, and Ron sighed.

"Look, mate. I know Malfoy and I weren't the best of friends either, but nobody hated him more than you."

"I didn't really _hate_ —"

"And if he's really changed so much that you're willing to be friends with him," Ron continued, cutting Harry off, "then I'm not going to nit-pick." He slapped Harry on the shoulder. "You're not a kid anymore, and you didn't tell me this with the intention of getting advice on what to do, did you?"

When Harry shook his head, Ron shrugged. "That's that, then. As long as you're happy and healthy, I honestly don't care who you're friends with, Harry. Just… be careful, is all I'm going to say."

So saying, Ron made his way to the dining room, not waiting for Harry to respond. Harry chuckled to himself and scratched his ear, grateful that he had such amazing friends. It wasn't often that Ron and him had honest, heart-to-heart conversations, but Ron never failed to speak his mind, and the longer they remained friends and the older they got, the wiser the redhead seemed to get.

As Harry came to sit beside Ron at the table, surrounded by the laughter of his friends and family, he couldn't help but hope that one day he would be able to share the same with Draco. Just then, the thought seemed daunting, but he knew time and effort would definitely make it a possibility.

"What're you smiling about?" Hermione asked as she served him, and he grinned.

"I was just thinking that I've grown to respect your husband a lot, of late."

Ron promptly choked on his food and Ginny burst out laughing. "What's this, now? Ron, you'd better do whatever Harry wants you to, because you're never going to hear any of us say something that embarrassing!"

"Hey!" Harry said, pretending to be affronted.

Ron continued to cough and choke, his face red, as Hermione rubbed his back. As they all laughed, Rose worriedly stroking her father's cheek and offering him her water, Harry saw that Ron was smiling through his tears. It was such a heart-warming sight that Harry felt like if he cast a Patronus just then, it would probably be bigger and brighter than it had ever been.

* * *

 **[December 5 2011]**

 **11:17 AM**

Harry stood behind the white barrier erected around the corner to the place where the press conference was going on, bouncing his knee and chewing on his thumb in impatience.

What Hermione had said the previous day had been true: he was barely as important as Rogers, the Auror who had led the investigation, Buxley, the Auror who had oversseen the investigation, and Hermione, from the DMLE, who had also been closely involved with the investigation. Most of the questions had been directed towards the trio, leaving Harry out of the limelight for once, much to his delight.

Things had gotten out of hand, however, when a rude reporter had accused the Ministry of protecting Draco and firing an innocent Dyers, specifically blaming Harry for being the cause of Dyers' dismissal since he was the one who had gone to Malfoy Manor that morning. Harry had no idea where or how the wizard had gotten his information, but Byron had insisted that Harry be removed from the press conference in order to keep things from spiralling out of control.

His boss and the DMLE's lack of faith in his ability to handle the press was something he was used to, but it didn't serve to frustrate him any less. Thus, he stood outside impatiently, waiting for someone to come and inform him that it was safe for him to return to the Auror Office without being ambushed by the reporters.

He just hoped that Buxley would be able to cover for Rogers if he fumbled, especially considering the fact that Rogers' endeavour to follow the runaway perpetrators to their boss had failed epically, and the shock was still fresh. To be honest, Harry had expected no less. When they couldn't glean any information regarding the cult's leader, even after administering more than the usual amount of Veritaserum, Harry had reckoned that finding the big boss wasn't going to be so simple.

The fact that the media hadn't found out that Rogers and his team had allowed the two wizards to be murdered and the missing Dark Artefact to be stolen from under their noses was in itself a miracle. Had they known, Rogers would probably have passed out from the stress of all the questions, especially with it being his first press conference and all.

The sheer number of bodies on their hands in the past few days was astonishing. Although Harry was relieved that none of them were his own, it still unnerved him that a mass murderer was out there, threatening people into taking their own lives just to keep his identity a secret, but without any leads, an investigation was impossible. As they had before, the case would be closed until such time that they had enough evidence to re-open it once again.

Harry sighed, leaning back and closing his eyes as he let his mind wander. His thoughts inevitably led to Draco, and he wondered if he could go see him. It had only been a day or so since he last saw the blond, but Harry felt like he was starved from not seeing him.

After a moment's thought, he pulled out his phone and turned it on, taking only a moment to send a quick message to the blond before switching it off and shoving it back in his pocket.

 _What if he doesn't see it?_ He thought, heart racing. _Or what if he says I can't go and I go without seeing his reply?_

Harry stared ahead, worrying unnecessarily. _What if I go and Zabini's there again?_

Closing his eyes again, he hung his head and sighed. _Why is this so difficult?_

After a time, Harry found himself daydreaming about what would've happened if they were still students in Hogwarts. They would've had to fight and be cruel to each other every time they had come face to face, just to keep up appearances, and then they would've had secret rendezvous, preferably in the dead of night, to be themselves and just enjoy the other's company.

 _What cliché, teenager-like things am I thinking,_ Harry wondered, feeling embarrassed by his own thoughts. He covered his mouth to hide his smile as he pictured a young Draco in his head, laughing and blushing in the way that the current Draco did.

"Harry, are you OK?"

He snapped his head to the side, staring at Hermione wide-eyed as she glanced over her shoulder before hurrying over to him.

"How was it?" he asked, more out of habit than actual curiosity.

"Not as bad as I thought it would be. Especially after Byron kicked you out."

Harry grimaced. "Yeah, I'm expecting see an article on that in the papers soon."

"Don't worry about what those idiots say," Hermione said kindly, squeezing his hand. "Anyway, you should probably lay low for a while. They'll probably try to ambush you to ask you why you disappeared suddenly or if the higher-ups are trying to keep you from telling them the truth."

Hermione rolled her eyes, and Harry laughed at the accuracy of her words. "Don't worry. I never leave the Ministry through the front door anyway."

"I know, but still. Just stay away from all of this until all the excitement settles down and they find someone else to frame."

"Roger that."

Hermione smiled and patted his arm. "I'll distract them. Use the opportunity to get out of here."

"I owe you one," Harry said, pecking her on the cheek gratefully before making off in the opposite direction while she drew the reporters' attention away from him.

It didn't take much effort to reach his office, and the moment he was inside, he had an insatiable need to see Draco.

"Just this time," he told his disbelieving conscience as he threw down the Floo powder and stepped into the flames.

He stepped out, a grin already on his face, his excitement at seeing Draco again palpable, but as his eyes scanned the empty room, his heart fell.

 _I told you!_ His mind supplied as he whipped out his phone and turned it on, desperately needing to see if Draco had replied to his message.

He hadn't. Harry frowned.

It was unlike the blond to leave his office in the middle of the day, especially a Monday, and he was starting to worry. As he paced up and down, wondering what to do, the door opened. He froze and looked up, hoping to see the familiar platinum-blond, but, instead, he came face to face with a surprised Camilla, who looked like she was in desperate need of sleep.

"Wha—" she said, looking around her in confusion. "What're you doing here? Where's Draco?"

Harry frowned, a sense of trepidation creeping down his spine. "That's what I want to know."

"That's strange…" Camilla said as she walked towards Draco's desk. "He was here earlier this morning. He wouldn't simply leave without telling me."

"Do you think something happened?"

Camilla brought a hand to her chin in thought as she gazed at one of the photos on Draco's desk. "I hope not, but maybe…"

"Maybe what?"

She looked at him, cerulean eyes dark, and hesitated. "I don't think it's my place to tell you."

"Camilla," Harry said, frustrated. "I just need to know that he's alright. So if you know something, please tell me."

She continued to stare at him for a long moment, her poker face unreadable, but Harry knew she knew more than she was letting on. "You know," she murmured, "you're awfully concerned about someone who should be no more than your Mind Healer."

"We're friends, and you know that," Harry said, his head starting to hurt. He was much too anxious to play mind games with her just then.

"Are you?" she asked, catching him off guard.

"What—"

She looked to the side, eyeing the fireplace like she expected Draco to come bursting out of it at any moment.

"You should leave," she said finally. "Although Draco allows you to come in here whenever he's around, I don't think he'd appreciate you coming here without his knowledge."

"Why'd he leave the Floo open, then?" Harry argued.

"I'll warn him about that when I see him," she said, ushering him towards the fireplace.

"Wait—"

"Goodbye, Harry."

She practically forced him into the still-glowing green flames, and before he could even react, the Floo had returned him to his office. He tumbled out and fell on his backside with a surprised yelp. Groaning, he got to his feet and eyed the fireplace, the embers now dull as they fizzled out, his mind whirring as he tried to recollect anything that could've led Draco to abruptly abandon his office without notice.

Other than the most recent events, he couldn't think of anything else. He was probably reading too much into it, and Camilla's dismissal of him probably wasn't as serious as it seemed—or so he wanted to believe.

 _Where are you, Draco?_ he thought, biting his thumbnail anxiously. _What have you gotten yourself into now?_

* * *

 **A/n: Suspeeense! Can any of you guess what's up with Draco? I've mentioned it in an earlier chapter in passing before, but even if you don't remember, you're gonna find out... eventually...lol (I sorry orz)**

 **Also, I kind of needed to write ordinary slice-of-life family moments right now so I'm sorry that this chapter wasn't as intense or anything. Everybody needed the break from all the action.**

 **Also also, I know quite a few of you have mentioned you hope that the whole Grant arc has ended, and it has. Dan and Matt's infrequent appearances are not related to that arc anymore. You'll see why I still have them as the chapters go on (but I'm guessing some of you may have an idea already).**

 **Please review and leave me your thoughts!**

 **P.S. I just realised I've apologised so much haha...oh well.**

 **Thank you for reading!**

 **Lots of love,**

 **Arty xx**


	40. 40 Lies: When Lies Meet the Truth

**A/n: Forty chapters down! And so many, many more to go!**

 **I wish all my wonderful readers a very, very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! Thank you for all those of you who stuck with me from the very beginning! And thank you to everybody else who'll stick with me into the next year!**

 **As a festive bonus, this is the longest chapter I've written so far. It's nearly 9,000 words long! Phew!**

 **Anyway, hang onto your horses, and let's get into it! :3**

* * *

 **This chapter was written in memory of my late great grandmother. She will always be my hero.**

* * *

 **Chapter 40**

 **When Lies Meet the Truth**

* * *

 **[December 5 2011]**

 **4:19 PM**

Harry paced the length of his office, his worry growing with every passing moment. It had been over five hours since he had Floo-d to Antares unannounced. He hadn't a clue how much time had transpired before he had arrived to find Draco missing.

There was no way for him to find out what was happening with the blond, either. Camilla seemed to have an inkling, but she didn't seem inclined to share her thoughts with Harry. He wasn't sure where Draco was and didn't want to startle Astoria with his speculations and make her anxious. Zabini was out of the question, even if Harry had some way of reaching him.

And so, he was left with no other option but to let his thoughts get the better of him as he paced.

At one point he abruptly stopped and stared at the clock on the mantle, calculating the amount of time he had to wait before he could consider Draco to be missing and launch an official investigation. _Far too long,_ he thought in frustration as he resumed his pacing.

He had tried to rationally think through the situation multiple times. That he was overreacting was an understatement—something he could admit to himself—but not having the slightest clue as to where the blond could have disappeared to unnerved Harry greatly. It also brought to his notice how little about Draco he actually knew. Even after all the lengthy discussions and confessions of their feelings, Harry was forced to realise that the extent of his knowledge regarding Draco's life extended to just Antares and the four walls of Draco's office.

Beyond that, and what titbits Draco had shared with him, there was very little Harry actually knew about the blond's everyday life. The truth was a bitter pill to swallow, one that had been forced down Harry's throat in light of recent events, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of resentment and dissatisfaction towards his relationship with Draco.

He didn't consider his bitterness to be unwarranted, even if his incessant worrying and overthinking were. If Draco were in his shoes, he'd probably feel the same way. Harry hoped that he would, at least, because for all of Draco's professions and demonstrations of love, there was an equal, if not greater, amount of resistance towards Harry and their relationship.

Harry understood Draco's dilemma—all too well, in fact, being in the same boat himself—but he didn't approve of Draco's way of handling things. He wished the blond would rely on Harry more and confide in him more, even if it were about seemingly mundane things. He knew that Draco had already revealed to Harry things from his past that he hadn't told anybody else; that was the only reason Harry chose to ignore the fact that the blond didn't open up to him about his problems.

At least, he had until just then. Now, it had become very obvious to Harry that knowing Draco's past made little difference since it gave him no answers to finding out the blond's current situation. What Draco had done in his past mattered very little to Harry as compared to what he was about to do in the future. The past was over and done with. The future, on the other hand, impacted not just Draco, but Harry as well.

And the present was driving him crazy.

He was ruffling his hair in frustration, grinding his teeth so hard that it was giving him a headache, when a shrill ringing filled the room. At first, Harry started and looked around in confusion, unable to identify the source of the ringing, but as he saw the muted light blinking in the pocket of his coat, he realised that it was his phone ringing. Not used to having his phone turned on at work and the ringer volume on loud, Harry rushed to grab the handset, his heart stilling when he saw who the caller was.

"Hello?" he answered breathlessly, pressing the devise against his ear, anticipation thrumming through him.

"Harry." Draco's voice was soft, and there was a trace of inexplicable sadness in it that further amplified Harry's worry.

"Draco, are you alright?" Harry asked immediately, needing to know that his unfounded anxiety was nothing but that.

There was no reply from the other end, and Harry began to panic, his mind jumping to worst-case scenarios. Finally, Draco sighed and said in the same soft, hopeless voice, "My mother… she passed away earlier today."

Harry went still, his heart pounding in his chest, as he processed Draco's words.

His mother?

An image of a poised, youthful-looking witch sprang to mind from long-forgotten memories, and Harry shuddered.

 _Narcissa Malfoy, dead?_

"Where are you?" Harry asked at once, all of his musings and speculations circumventing one another as they coalesced to form one desperate thought. "I'll come to you. Tell me where you are."

"Home," Draco whispered, his voice so raw and broken that it physically pained Harry.

"I'm coming," Harry said, his mind whirring, as he strode over to his desk and pressed the button that would summon Buxley to his office.

"Harry," Draco said, sounding so desperate and vulnerable, as though he was begging for Harry to come and save him.

"I'm coming," Harry said again, more firmly this time, with the hope that he could provide some measure of reassurance to the blond.

He cut the call and stared at the blank screen for a long moment, in shock. Of all the conclusions he had jumped to, never had he considered that anything of this sort would happen. The pain of losing a parent, of losing one's mother, was not something Harry could fully grasp the gravity of. His mother was gone before he was even old enough to understand the permanence of her disappearance. He had never had the opportunity to be raised and loved by a mother to fully understand what it was like to lose one.

Harry's pain was a different sort of pain. The grief he felt was for the man he loved and his family. His sadness came from his need to share and understand Draco's sorrow and loss—from his need to help reduce the burden on Draco's heart. He clutched at his chest, suddenly breathless, feeling a sense of physical and mental exhaustion settle over him.

 _Death._

Something he was so familiar with, yet frightened him anew at every turn.

He belatedly mused over the fact that it hadn't mattered so much to him when all those cultists had died over the past week, yet now, he stood there, heart aching, an immense wave of sadness washing over him and drowning him, as though the pain was his own.

"Boss?"

Harry looked up at the sound of Buxley's voice, still too stunned and not yet having fully come out of his previous tense state.

"What's the matter?" His deputy was before him in an instant, concern clouding his wizened features.

"I have to go," Harry said, his voice hoarse, his heart still racing. "Something's happened. I have to go."

"To your family?" Buxley asked immediately, the furrow in his brows deepening.

Harry shook his head and cleared his throat. "No, no. They're fine. The mother of a friend of mine just passed away."

"I'm so sorry," Buxley said gently, his hand reaching out to clasp Harry's shoulder.

"Thank you." He nodded at his deputy, not finding any other words to say.

"Go," Buxley said, offering Harry a sympathetic smile. "I'll take care of things."

Harry mumbled his gratitude, stepped away, spun on the spot, and Disapparated.

He hadn't even been sure if the wards around Malfoy Manor would permit him entrance, but the magic seemed to recognise his own and allowed him to Apparate directly inside the large house. He ended up in a familiar, yet unfamiliar room, one that resembled the image that Harry had envisioned before Apparating, making him belatedly wonder how many identical rooms were in the Manor.

Harry took a moment to catch his breath before looking around, wondering what to do next, when the door opened and Draco stood before him. He wore pale, high-necked and full-sleeved robes that washed the colour from his already light-skinned countenance, giving him a ghostly, almost translucent appearance. His usually slicked-back platinum hair flopped loosely over his eyes. His otherwise straight-backed posture was hunched, his shoulders drooped, and his arms pulled close against his body, making him look far smaller than he actually was.

He glided forward as Harry moved towards him, making it seem as though the ground beneath his feet was the one moving and not his legs. His eyes were hooded and hollow, almost lifeless, and he came to a complete standstill before Harry—so still that it didn't even seem as though he was breathing. There was an ethereal quality to him, as though he no longer thought he belonged to the world of the living, his expression resigned and hopeless, and it disheartened Harry greatly to see him that way.

"I felt your magic disrupt the wards," he mumbled, a hand instantly reaching out to Harry as though he yearned for Harry's touch.

Harry pulled Draco close and wrapped him in his arms. The blond melted into him, a worn-out sigh escaping his lips as he hung limply from Harry's embrace. They stood that way for a long time, neither moving nor speaking, Harry holding the blond so gingerly, as he was afraid Draco would break otherwise.

"It wasn't exactly sudden, I suppose," Draco said abruptly, pulling away and moving towards the lone sofa in the room without so much as a passing glance towards Harry. "We'd anticipated it for quite some time, now, seeing as how her condition had been gradually worsening over the years. But she'd been getting better. She'd been talking and even smiling. We thought she had improved—that there was still hope for recovery." He choked on his words, his eyes fixed on the ground as he lowered himself onto the sofa in a slow and careful fashion, as though he himself was aware of his fragility. "Scorpius was the one who found her. He's still in shock. I don't think he fully understands what happened."

Harry wasn't too sure what sort of illness Draco's mother had been suffering from—he hadn't even known that she had been ill at all—and he didn't think it an appropriate time to ask, so he came to sit beside Draco and held his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

Draco finally raised his head to meet Harry's gaze, and what he saw in the blond's shallow grey eyes broke Harry's heart. There was so much sorrow and regret in them that Harry felt like he would drown in those emotions if he didn't look away.

"I'm sorry," he finally whispered, not knowing or having anything else to say.

Draco smiled—or, at least he attempted to, but the corners of his lips barely lifted. "I initially wanted to become a Mind Healer to help her, you know," he murmured, a far-off look in his light eyes as he stared past Harry. "I thought I could heal her—that I could save her. But I was wrong. She was more broken than she had led any of us to believe, wearing her façade of strength so convincingly and for so long that we never even realised something was wrong until she had completely crumbled beneath it."

Draco sighed, his thin shoulders sagging as though from an invisible burden. They sat in silence for a long time, Harry watching Draco as he went off into a world of his own—a world Harry had no way of entering.

"She only had one regret, my mother," Draco said after a time, his voice so soft, his lips barely moving. If Harry hadn't been watching him so intently, he would've thought the blond hadn't spoken at all. "That she never got to mend her relationship with her sister."

Bellatrix's face flashed into Harry's mind, and for a moment he was confused. Had Narcissa and Bellatrix's relationship been sour?

"My mother happened to meet my aunt one time, by chance, when she had gone to pay her respects at the graves of the fallen, over half a decade after the war," Draco continued, unaware of Harry's confusion. "She met her grandnephew there for the very first time. A child of six, standing before his parents' graves, one of whom—her own niece—had been murdered by her own sister." Draco shook his head, his eyes glassy and his grief palpable. "There were no words that my mother could have employed to convince Andromeda of the guilt she felt and the forgiveness she beseeched."

Harry felt winded, as though he had slammed into a wall and the air had been forced out of his lungs, when realisation hit him. _That's right,_ he thought, a shrill ringing sounding in his ears. _Andromeda and Narcissa were sisters. Teddy is Draco's cousin._

He simply could not fathom it. He had known of Andromeda's ties to the Blacks. He had seen the tapestry in Grimmauld Place. But, somehow, it had completely slipped his mind that Andromeda was Draco's aunt and Tonks his cousin. The facts had always been there, staring him in the face, yet they had somehow eluded his rationale of their significance.

"Andromeda only ever spoke a few words to my mother on that day," Draco continued, drawing Harry out of his jumbled thoughts. "But those few words served to completely break her in ways you cannot even imagine." He shifted infinitesimally and met Harry's eyes. "She had told me, once, so long ago that it feels like it was in a dream, that in all her efforts to save her family, she never realised that it meant betraying her family as well."

He turned away again, his voice taking on an otherworldly quality. "She did to her own grandnephew what she didn't want done to her son. She sacrificed not only her own blood in an attempt to save my father and I, but hundreds of others. Even if she never directly took anyone's life, she knew that by not attempting to stop the pointless massacre, she, too, undoubtedly had her hands soaked in the blood of innocents. We all do."

Draco lapsed into silence then, gone again into the world of his making, lost to Harry even as he sat there, right before him. The blond was silent and still for so long that it startled Harry when he spoke again.

"I know she would want to lay beside her own, but I do not know if it's in my power to make her final wish a reality."

"Maybe not," Harry said, his voice rough from not having spoken for so long. Draco turned to fix glassy eyes on him. His stare was not accusatory, but questioning. "But maybe I can help," Harry continued, without even knowing what it was he was offering to do. "Let me help you."

Draco eyed him for a long moment, as though testing the truth in Harry's words, as though uncertain of whether or not Harry could do what he had promised. Then, after a moment, the blond closed his eyes and tilted his head to the side in the slightest. He looked like he was listening to something, something nobody else could here—voices from the grave, Harry's mind supplied—but Harry understood.

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to the blond's, and Draco sighed, long and sorrowful, crumpling into Harry's arms. Harry held Draco once again without moving, not even to stroke his back in comfort or pull him closer.

The door opened quietly after a time, and Astoria stepped into the room. Harry offered her a tired smile, much too emotionally preoccupied to bother about what it was she had walked into. She made her way over to them, her dark robes gliding across the marble flooring without a sound. She offered Harry a small, grateful smile, her eyes swollen and her cheeks red—remnants of long hours of crying. Reaching over, she brushed her fingertips across Draco's head, and the blond jerked back, a look of confusion on his face.

The moment he saw Astoria, his demeanour completely changed. He went from the weak, broken man who had been desperately clinging onto Harry for dear life to the grieving husband who would lend a shoulder for his wife to cry on. The transition was so sudden and immediate that Harry felt unnerved by Draco's ability to change so completely at the flip of a switch.

Astoria sank to the floor before Draco, a pained whimper escaping her lips, and she covered her mouth, as though ashamed that her vulnerability had been exposed. Draco reached out to touch her cheek, so carefully, so gently, just as Harry had been holding him moments earlier, and they gazed into each other's eyes, communicating all their pain and loss and sadness to each other.

Harry averted his eyes, shifting away, uncomfortable at intruding on such a private moment. He swallowed thickly, his own emotions just beneath the surface, Draco's anguish still clinging to him even if the man himself wasn't.

There was a rustling sound, and he glanced back despite himself, watching as Draco ripped open an ivory envelope, the familiar crimson seal glittering in the light of the evening sun as he unfolded the letter within and skimmed its contents. He then sighed, withdrawn and hopeless, tossing the letter onto the sofa, and Astoria's face fell.

"Why?" she whispered, her voice sounding as though a great injustice had been done to her.

Draco shook his head. "We anticipated as much. It would have been nothing short of a miracle if they had agreed."

"We aren't asking for much," she said, her voice trembling. "Even a small space, even at the edge, anything—"

"Astoria."

The witch whimpered again, her dark eyes full to the brim with unshed tears. "She only ever asked for one thing, Draco. If we cannot do even this much for her…"

Draco took his wife in his arms, whispering gently to her as her body shuddered and she sobbed silently into his chest. Harry looked away again, and his eyes landed on the discarded letter. There were only four lines written on it in an elegant, careful cursive that Harry would've recognised anywhere. McGonagall's reply to Draco's request, whatever it was, was short, purposeful, and final, even if it was sympathetic and kind.

From what Draco had said and from reading the letter, Harry had gleaned enough information to piece together the rest. Narcissa's dying wish must have been to be laid to rest close to Remus and Tonks' graves, on the grounds of Hogwarts, in the border of the Forbidden Forest, where all of the fallen had been buried. Knowing special allocations could be made if the relatives and family of those who died fighting in the war so requested, Draco probably wrote to McGonagall, beseeching her for the same, only to be turned down.

Harry felt his heart clench. The help he had willingly offered before, without knowing the situation, may just be of use yet.

He waited until husband and wife pulled away from their embrace to speak. "If you would allow me," he began softly, and the two turned to face him, "perhaps I can help."

Astoria's face light up instantly, and before Draco could even react, she was already begging him to consider Harry's offer. "Please, Draco! Maybe if Mr Potter were to speak with McGonagall, she would reconsider, or at least acquiesce to our request!"

Draco regarded Harry for a long moment, and the latter could see the former's thought process as it unfolded in his hopeful eyes. "Would you really be willing to…?"

"Of course," Harry said without hesitation, smiling at the two. "McGonagall seems to have her own reasons for rejecting your request, but she isn't inconsiderate enough to completely deny it—especially if I were to put in a word on your behalf." Although he said so confidently, he could only hope that it would work.

"Oh, thank you, thank you!" Astoria gushed, surprising Harry by engulfing him in a warm hug. His immediate thought was that it was uncharacteristic of a woman bearing the Malfoy name to show her emotions so openly, but then he realised that perhaps Astoria had already gone far in shattering that stereotype.

"It's my absolute pleasure," he said as she pulled away, wiping tears from her cheeks. "Besides, it's the least I can do," he added, smiling at Draco.

Draco shook his head, wearing a somewhat awestruck smile, colour returning to his cheeks and hope dancing in his eyes. That Harry was able the one who brought out the positive change in him was satisfaction enough to offer any measure of help to the blond.

Astoria then rose to her feet and asked Harry to stay for a cup of tea, which the latter gladly accepted, and made her way out of the room, leaving the two men alone yet again. The moment Draco turned back to Harry and opened his mouth, Harry leaned forward and kissed him, silencing the words of gratitude he knew Draco was about to speak. The blond pulled away, a shuddering breath escaping his lips.

"If you keep helping me like this, I may end up taking advantage of your kindness," he said matter-of-factly, his gaze focused on Harry's mouth.

"I would be more than happy if you did that," Harry replied, reaching up to brush Draco's hair out of his eyes.

The blond finally met Harry's gaze, his silver eyes dancing and shimmering in the way Harry had come to love, and Harry sighed in relief. "I was so worried," he whispered, closing his eyes as he swallowed thickly. "I had no idea where you were or what had happened to you. I had no way to contact you besides your office or your phone. I didn't know what to do."

Draco's expression was so tender when Harry opened his eyes again that it overwhelmed him, and the damn of emotions that he had kept at bay for so many hours came spilling forth. "I love you so much that it scares me," he whispered, his voice choked, and Draco reached up to caress Harry's face.

"I can see that," he murmured, pressing his forehead to Harry's. "I can see it so clearly that it scares me as well."

Harry exhaled a shaky breath, closing his eyes on the deluge of emotions that threatened to overflow down his cheeks. His himself didn't understand this extreme reaction of his, and just then, he was too overcome to even try. Draco was somehow able to reach deep within him and elicit the rawest of emotions, and Harry hadn't yet found a way to counteract that—or if he even wanted to.

So, the two men simply sat there, sharing in each other's sorrow, relief, anxiety, grief and love, revelling in the other's company, and taking comfort in the other's presence.

* * *

 **[December 9 2011]**

 **10:30 AM**

It had taken over three days to organise the funeral.

The moment Harry had gone to McGonagall, it was very clear that her rejection of the Malfoys' request had more to do with external politics and such than with her unwillingness to consent. Since the burial grounds was the responsibility of not just Hogwarts but the Ministry of Magic as well—the school alone being unable to shoulder the task of long-term maintenance and upkeeping—the decision-making process was also split between the two.

As the Headmistress, McGonagall did have the final say—Shacklebolt had been very clear in making sure everybody knew that Hogwarts' sovereignty would remain vested with the Headmistress and none else—since the burial grounds was on school grounds and under her direct protection. But if the majority of the Ministry officials involved with its management disagreed with a request put forth, then forcing her hand would do nothing but turn them against her.

Harry, of course, had understood all of this, seeing as how he faced something similar with the DMLE on an almost day-to-day basis, but he had refused to go down without a fight. He had requested that she grant some leeway this one time, telling her that he would shoulder the officials' disdain by himself, but McGonagall had been hesitant about putting herself in a precarious position. Unless Harry could garner the favour of the immediate surviving family, he had no chance of gaining the Ministry's approval without unnecessary and repeated debates and discussions, further prolonging the matter.

The necessary miracle had come in the form of Andromeda, who, after receiving the news of her sister's demise and the illness that had led to it, was much too worn at heart and had lost far too many near and dear to her to deny her sister of her dying wish. Her only condition was that there would be no eulogy given officially by the family at the funeral. She had refused to allow a situation that had the potential to bring in negative emotions and unnecessary strife to an already tragic event. Whether or not her worries were unfounded and if her demand was excessive had gone unquestioned; the Malfoys had gotten their wish, Harry had succeeded in keeping his promise, and McGonagall had managed to avoid a sticky situation, hence nobody had anything to complain about.

The Ministry, too, had certain conditions they needed to be met for them to let go of their prejudices and acquiesce to the request. One of them was that a Ministry official was to be present at the funeral. Their greatest qualm was the gathering of former Death Eaters in one place, especially Lucius Malfoy, who had managed to slip out of their fingers time and again. If things had gone their way, they would've had a whole regiment of Aurors present on the day of the funeral. Thankfully, Harry had been able to use his position as the Head Auror to convince them that there was no need for more than one person to be sent as he himself would be present. McGonagall had added that the teachers were also perfectly adept to handle any sort of conflict, if at all it were to arise.

The fact that Andromeda did not want a eulogy to be given and her reasoning behind it had come up multiple times during the discussion as well. Their argument had been that if her fears were legitimate, then it was dangerous to allow the funeral to take place at all, at Hogwarts or otherwise. And if they weren't, then there was no reason to accommodate her demands. In the end, out of sheer frustration than anything, Harry had declared that a eulogy would be given, and by none other than himself. Everyone had been sceptical of this, McGonagall included, but he reasoned that if their refusal stemmed from the eulogy being given by the family causing discord and leading to dissention, then him being the one to give it automatically solved that problem.

His argument was barely faultless, but the officials had not expected it and hence were unable to come up with something persuasive enough to hold their stand. Thus, the request had been granted, albeit very begrudgingly, and Harry was forced to run around, talking to various people in order to come up with something decent enough to speak about, considering he knew little to nothing about Narcissa Malfoy to give her eulogy.

On the fateful day, he stood in a corner by the dais, beside Hermione—who, to his delight and relief, had been the first to volunteer to be present at the funeral, something no one else wanted to do, and hence had met little to no resistance. McGonagall and Slughorn stood a little ways off, speaking with Draco and Astoria, and from the latter two's demeanour, he presumed they were thanking the Headmistress and Potions Professor for their help.

Lucius Malfoy stood at the entrance of the small clearing, beside a flower-woven arch—Narcissus, Hermione had informed Harry—barely acknowledging anybody who passed by or spoke to him. He was a shadow of the man Harry had known him to be, and despite what a venomous existence Lucius had been in Harry's life, it was not any less tragic.

Hermione handed Harry two pieces of parchment, having finished going through the eulogy he had hastily put together, and gave him a nod of approval. "It should do," was all she said, and Harry sighed, his nervousness tripling.

After all the guests had settled down and McGonagall had spoken her part, Harry readied himself to get up on the dais and give his ill-prepared speech. As she passed him, she gave him a pointed look. _Don't mess up,_ it said, and Harry felt the knot in his stomach loosen. Good old McGonagall, being her usual, stern self as always, he thought to himself with a smile as he climbed up onto the makeshift stage and placed the pieces of parchment on the slanted podium shelf.

He cleared his throat, waited for the crowd to settle, and began to speak. "Good morning to one and all present here, and thank you for coming. I'm sure most of you are thinking that I'm the last person who should be standing here—" somebody grunted loud enough for Harry to hear, and there were a few quiet giggles following it, but Harry pushed on, blood rushing to his face, "—and I agree. But since circumstance has given me this privilege, I willingly accept it and hope to do it justice."

He inhaled deeply, looked down at the eulogy, and began his narration.

Everything considered, Harry was rather proud that he had managed to speak with people who had known Narcissa at different periods of her life. Andromeda had given him a heartbroken, yet nostalgic rendering of her most cherished memories from their childhood. McGonagall and Slughorn had offered him various instances from her student life. Harry had been too afraid to approach Lucius, whatever be the situation, and hence had gotten the majority of her adult life from Draco. Astoria had pitched in every now and then with little moments of her own that she had shared with her mother-in-law, and even Scorpius had given Harry an in-depth description of all the birthday and Christmas gifts his grandmother had given him.

He narrated all of this as well as he could, making sure he was neither monotonous nor dramatic in his retelling, but every time he glanced up at his audience, he could see that no one was really paying him any attention. People were either sobbing into their handkerchiefs, had their heads bowed in mourning, or were whispering amongst themselves. His ego was badly wounded, to say the least, but he ploughed on, knowing it was to be expected, seeing as how he was the most unsuitable for the task given to him.

When he was finally done, he placed the pieces of paper down and looked from face to face, watching as they realised that he had finished speaking and quieted. He knew that he was to step down, having completed his job, whether unsuccessfully or otherwise, but he was somehow dissatisfied. This was not how people should react to a eulogy, whoever gave it. There was vague disinterest and impatience in most of everybody's expression, and that irked Harry. His pride wounded and one single, impulsive thought coming to the forefront of his mind, he decided to wing it and took the plunge.

"Narcissa Malfoy was many things," he began anew, and he could've sworn he heard multiple groans from the crowd. "She was an obedient daughter, a lovable sister, a brilliant student," he continued, looking from face to face as he spoke, "a beloved wife, and an extraordinary mother and grandmother. Believe it or now, like many of you, I, too, had an opportunity to share an unforgettable memory with Narcissa Malfoy."

Murmurs stirred through the crowd, and impatience changed to curiosity. Harry cleared his throat, his heart hammering away in his chest, swallowing thickly as he glanced to the side and saw Hermione and McGonagall's disapproving frowns.

"Many of you were present on that fateful night, when Voldemort was defeated," he said, eliciting gasps and groans from the crowd when he spoke the taboo name. "But most of you don't know what _really_ went down that night." He looked from one curious face to the next, purposefully ignoring the Malfoys as he continued. "Voldemort had declared that if I were to sacrifice myself to him, then the war would end, and no more would die. Many agreed to this, myself included. So, I made my way to where he was, within the Forbidden Forest, all alone and prepared to die.

"And I did die. Or, at least, a part of me did—the part of me that, unbeknownst to anyone, the Dark Lord included, had housed Voldemort's soul for all my life." Stunned whispers fell on Harry's ears, but he ignored them. "When I came to, I lay on the ground, absolutely still, pretending like I was dead, not knowing what else to do in that situation. Voldemort commanded one of his loyal followers to make sure I was really and truly dead, and the person he sent was none other than Narcissa Malfoy."

He finally turned his gaze to Draco, fixing him with it. This was not how Harry had intended for Draco to find out, but he wanted the blond to know that more than anyone else, this was meant for him. "Although I was as still as I possibly could be, I knew that the moment she placed her fingers on my throat and felt my pulse, I was done for. I was panicking, not knowing what to do, how to escape with the miraculous second chance given to me, but, after finding out that I was alive, she bent close to me, as though to see if I was still breathing, and whispered, so softly that only I could hear, ' _Is Draco alive?'_ "

Harry watched Draco's eyes widen, and the blond instinctively leaned forward in his seat, desperate to know the rest. Harry could feel the intensity of everyone's gazes on him. He had finally gotten what he had wanted, but he wasn't sure if he liked it. Nonetheless, he continued, his eyes fixed on Draco's.

"I can't remember whether I responded to her; I was so afraid to breathe, let alone move, lest I should be found out, but she seemed satisfied with whatever confirmation she had got. She remained there for a moment longer—thinking back on it, perhaps she was trying to reassure me that everything was going to be alright—and then she turned around, looked Voldemort straight in the eyes, and said, _'Dead.'"_

Harry paused then, letting his words sink in, watching Draco sit back slowly, his mouth hanging open in shock. The silence that fell upon the small clearing was deafening, but a moment later, a rush of surprised and stunned whispers shattered it. People were murmuring and muttering all around him, discussing this new piece of information that they never could have imagined, and Harry waited until they settled down before he continued.

"Narcissa Malfoy saved my life," he said, and although his voice was soft, it carried across the quiet clearing. "To me, she was, and will always be, a hero."

Draco was openly crying now, although he didn't seem to know it himself, still staring at Harry with a stunned expression on his face. Astoria was sobbing into his shoulder, a bewildered Scorpius clinging onto his mother in confusion. Harry noticed that Lucius had finally torn his gaze away from the ground and was looking at Harry, his expression indescribable, but the mixture of remorse and gratitude in his eyes unmistakable.

Harry looked around, taking in the varying levels of shock and surprise, and his eyes landed on Andromeda. She smiled up at him, tears spilling freely down her cheeks, and mouthed two words.

 _Thank you._

He swallowed thickly, feeling an odd sense of calmness settle within him, as though finally narrating the truth had relieved him of a great burden—one that he himself had not known he had been carrying. He shuffled down from the dais and Hermione engulfed him in a hug, whispering how proud she was of him in his ear. He looked over her shoulder at McGonagall, who was smiling proudly, her head held high, and Harry instantly knew he had done the right thing.

When he stepped to the side, Draco was before him, a watery smile on his face. Before Harry could open his mouth to speak, Draco crushed him in a hug, a sob escaping his lips. "Thank you," he choked out, his voice trembling so much that his words were slurred. "Thank you."

Harry felt tears fill his own eyes and swallowed them back as he held Draco with one arm and stretched the other one out to Astoria. She took his hand and came close to kiss him on the cheek, not bothering to hide her tears. "I'll never forget this," she whispered softly so only he could hear. "I'll always remember how much you've done for Draco."

He smiled at her, not trusting himself to speak, and she glanced at her husband once, then at Harry, and an understanding seemed to dawn on her. Her smile widened, a mixture of sadness and gratitude swimming in her dark eyes. She leaned forward, as though to hug him, and whispered in his ear, "Take care of him."

Before Harry could fully understand what she meant, she had moved away to Lucius and Scorpius. Harry turned his gaze to Draco as he stood before him, a small smile spread across his tear-stained cheeks, his silvery eyes glittering as he took Harry's hands in his.

"This is more than I bargained for, you know," he said, and Harry couldn't help but chuckle.

"Consider my debt now repaid."

Draco shook his head. "Your debt was to my mother, not me. You can't get rid of me that easily."

Harry found himself grinning despite everything. "I wouldn't dream of it."

The next moment, Zabini was beside them, eyeing Harry with an indescribable mix of emotions, his mouth downturned in a frown. Draco was called away by someone, leaving Harry alone with Zabini, and he tried to walk away, but the latter wouldn't have it.

"Don't mistake me," Zabini said, his voice steely. "I haven't forgiven you just yet, and I still hate your guts." Harry raised his eyebrows, not knowing how to respond. "But, I shall admit that what you did today was commendable. They needed that," he said, glancing towards the Malfoys. "And coming from you, it was more impactful than if anyone else were to have said it."

"It was the truth," Harry said, needing to clarify that nothing he had spoken was fabricated.

Zabini nodded once. "That much is obvious." He then looked away, his posture going rigid, a sour expression on his face. He looked like he had swallowed something unpleasant and wanted to spit it out. "Thank you," he muttered, so quietly that Harry almost missed it, and then walked away before Harry could process what he had said.

He stared after Zabini, stunned, and then covered his mouth with his hand to hide his triumphant smile. Had he just killed two birds with one stone?

"Harry!"

Harry turned at the sound of the familiar voice, laughing as a turquoise-haired thirteen-year-old barrelled into him. "Oof! Good to see you too, Teddy!"

Teddy grinned, the tips of his hair standing up. "What're you doing here?" Harry asked, knowing it was a weekday and the boy was meant to be in class.

"McGonagall exempted me from attending classes just for today," Teddy replied, grinning from ear to ear.

"Not that she had to," Andromeda said, appearing behind her grandson. "It must be true that kindness comes with age."

"I doubt it," Teddy muttered, whistling innocently when Andromeda looked towards him.

She shook her head and then turned back to Harry, holding her arms out. "Harry," she said, her voice gentle.

He hugged her, sighing happily, always revelling in Andromeda's rare hugs. "You never cease to surprise and amaze me at every turn," she said softly, patting him on the back.

"Well, somebody's got to bring some excitement into your life when Teddy's away at school," he said cheekily as he pulled back, earning a smack on his arm.

"But really," she said, pulling her robes tighter around her. "Thank you."

"For you, always," he said, squeezing her arm.

Her smile widened, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she reached up to pat him on the cheek fondly. She then glanced over his shoulder, the expression in her eyes changing. "I never thought I would live to see the two of you become such good friends," she said softly.

"Forgiveness is liberating," Harry replied just as softly, and Andromeda gave him a wry smile.

"It would have done me good to hear those words sooner."

Harry made to reply, but someone cleared their throat behind him, and he turned to see Draco, a tight smile on his face. The blond opened his mouth, struggled to speak, and then said, "Thank you for coming, Mrs Tonks—"

"Please," Andromeda said, cutting him off. "Call me Andromeda."

Draco bowed his head slightly and then said, "Thank you for helping us make this happen."

Andromeda eyed her nephew for a moment, her dark eyes twinkling. "Narcissa was my sister first, before she was your mother," she said in way of dismissal. "It was the least I could do."

A moment of awkward silence followed, and then Andromeda placed her hand on Teddy's back and nudged him forward. "I don't think the two of you ever properly met," she said, turning to her grandson and motioning to Draco. "This is your cousin, Draco. Draco," she said, turning to the blond, who straightened at being addressed by his name, "this is Edward."

" _Teddy,"_ Teddy said pointedly, shaking Draco's hand. "I would've met you sooner if Gran wasn't such a grump."

That earned him a sharp pinch from his grandmother, who continued to smile as though she hadn't done a thing, and Teddy yelped, jumping away from her and rubbing his arm. Draco started, his eyes wide, a stunned smile on his face, and then he motioned to Astoria and Scorpius, following his aunt's approach and pretending not to have witnessed what had just happened.

"This is my wife, Astoria," he said, and the witch greeted Andromeda kindly. "And this is Scorpius," Draco said, holding the boy by his shoulders and nudging him forward.

Scorpius was far too busy staring up at Teddy's hair in awe—it had turned to flaming red spikes when Andromeda had pinched him, before settling back in its usual, messy turquoise locks. Scorpius's mouth was hanging open, his eyes wide and shining. Teddy grinned, always enjoying the reaction his Metamorphmagus skills got him, and leaned forward.

"Press my nose," he said, startling the boy out of his stupor.

"What?" Scorpius squeaked, bewildered, and Teddy pointed at his nose.

"Press my nose."

Scorpius hesitated, looking up at his mother for permission, and when Astoria nodded with a curious smile, he reached up and tentatively touched Teddy's nose. Teddy instantly reared back, his nose and mouth morphing into a huge beak, and he flapped his elbows, his skin flushing red and taking on the semblance of feathers. His hair flowed down his shoulders, bright crimson, his eyes shining gold. His appearance resembled that of a phoenix, and Harry made an impressed sound, seeing that Teddy's Transfiguration skills had improved yet again.

Scorpius, on the other hand, was beside himself with glee. He was tugging at his father's robes urgently, waving his other hand at Teddy. "Look, look, Daddy!" he gasped, barely able to contain his excitement.

Draco chuckled, patting his son's head affectionately while Astoria joined the boy in admiring Teddy's visage.

"Can you breathe fire?" Scorpius asked, bouncing on the spot, his eyes as big as saucers.

Teddy clacked his beak before morphing himself back to his usual appearance and said, "Phoenix's don't breathe fire, silly."

"But people don't turn into phoenix's either!" Scorpius argued, and Teddy nodded in agreement.

"That's true. Maybe if I tried—"

"Alright, that's quite enough excitement for one day," Andromeda cut in, smiling down at her grandnephew. "Hello, Scorpius. It's wonderful to finally meet you."

Scorpius stiffened, straightened his spine, and pushed his shoulders back. "It is a pleasure to make your ack—wantens," he said formally, fumbling in his attempt to say _acquaintance_.

Andromeda laughed, reaching over to pinch his cheek. "My, how well mannered. Perhaps you could learn a thing or two from your little cousin, Teddy?"

Teddy sniffed, crossing his arms and sulking. Andromeda then turned to Draco with a smile. "I hope we can meet soon and take our time talking."

"I would love that," Draco said immediately, sounding breathless.

The elderly witch nodded. "Well, if you'll excuse me, I would like to speak with my sister for a moment longer before I leave."

"Of course," Draco said, motioning towards the dais, where the casket lay open.

They watched her go, and then Teddy, having noticed Hermione, excused himself to go speak with her, telling Harry that he would write to him and see him during the Christmas break. Astoria ushered Scorpius towards the chairs to help him re-tie his undone shoelaces, leaving Harry and Draco alone. Draco's gaze shifted across the clearing, a sort of dazed smile on his face. "Everyone was shocked," he said quietly, not looking at Harry. "It was completely beyond any of our expectations."

"I never meant for you to hear it like this," Harry said, gesturing to where they were.

Draco turned to fix sparkling eyes on Harry. "But I'm glad you chose to tell it now. I needed to hear it now, more than ever. You cannot imagine the kind of strength you have given me, Harry. I cannot even begin to thank you."

Harry glanced around for a moment before saying softly, "I would kiss you now, if we weren't surrounded by so many people."

Draco's eyes widened, his cheeks flushing and the tips of his ears going red. Harry swallowed down his urges and leaned back on his heels for good measure. It was inappropriate, the degree of attraction he felt for the blond and his inability to keep his desires in check, considering the time and situation they were in.

"I would, too, if it were just the two of us," Draco whispered, and Harry had to physically step back and press a hand to his mouth to control himself.

"You're making fun of me, aren't you?" he asked through his fingers, seeing the way the corners of Draco's lips upturned in a smirk.

Draco shook his head, laughing, and he reached up to swipe a finger across his eye. "What I would do without you," he said, touching Harry's shoulder. Emerald eyes locked with silver ones, and the two men stood looking at each other for a long moment, before Draco smiled and turned away, leaving Harry to stare after him like a pet would its master. He brushed his shoulder where the warmth of Draco's touch still lingered and then looked away, conscious of his intense desire for the blond.

His eyes locked with a different pair of silver ones this time, and Harry froze as Lucius regarded him stoically from his place under a tree. There were hardly any people left, the stragglers either by the dais, paying their final respects, or outside, speaking with one another. Even Draco had exited the clearing and was talking to McGonagall, leaving Harry pretty much alone with Lucius.

Heart thudding against his ribcage, he wondered if Lucius had seen his interaction with Draco, and, if he had, what he had made of it. He suddenly became very conscious of what sort of expression he had worn while speaking with Draco or how it must have looked when the two had hugged. If Lucius was surprised to see Draco and Harry's friendship, or was displeased by it, he didn't show it.

After a moment, Lucius looked away and made his way out across the funeral site, disappearing behind an outcropping, leaving Harry with a myriad of thoughts spinning uncontrollably in his head. Astoria's words suddenly came to him, ringing clear in his ears.

 _Take care of him._

What had she meant? She seemed to know more than she was letting on. Perhaps Zabini had told her about them, or maybe she had somehow found out for herself. Harry stared at the freshly-mown grass beneath his feet, his hand pressed to his chest.

 _I must be misunderstanding something,_ he thought to himself, shaking his head. He looked up and saw that Draco was watching him, a concerned frown on his face. The blond tilted his head questioningly, and a shuddering breath escaped Harry's lips. Were his feelings for Draco that obvious, that people around him were able to identify them so easily?

Swallowing thickly, he left the clearing, putting on his typical Auror smile as he walked past people. Hermione caught up with him, but didn't say a word. Everyone's eyes he met, he felt as though they knew what was going on between Harry and Draco—that their secret was out in the open.

 _Shite,_ he thought as he came to a stop before McGonagall and Draco. What was he to do with this irrational paranoia that seemed to be growing day by day?

* * *

 **A/n: Are you guys shocked by how things turned out? There was a throwaway mention of there being something wrong with Narcissa in Astoria and Draco's conversation back in Chapter 21, Temporary Relief, where she's asking him why he can't cancel his appointment with Harry to be with Narcissa.**

 **Basically, it's a more evolved version of PTSD, where, after Narcissa meets Andromeda and sees Teddy standing before Remus and Tonks' graves, something within her just breaks. After that, her mental state steadily deteriorates, and after a while she stops eating or talking and just sits by the window, staring outside with an empty expression. Her physical state deteriorates simultaneously, and at one point she just gives up.**

 **As for Scorpius being the one to find that something was wrong with Narcissa—wronger than usual—it was something I took out of my own experience, because it was my younger brother that found my great grandmother and that really affected him.**

 **Anyway, this chapter was quite the emotional rollercoaster, but the one thing that came out of it is that Harry and Draco's so-called friendship is now public. I wonder what they're gonna do now.**

 **I'm hoping to post another chapter before the year ends, but in case I don't find the time to do so, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year again! I hope Santa is nice to you and your wishes come true!**

 **The best Christmas gift I can ask for is a review from you lovelies,** **letting me know your thoughts!**

 **Thank you for reading!**

 **Lots of love,**

 **Arty xx**


	41. 41 Lies: No More Lies

**A/n: Happy New Year, my lovelies! I hope you all have a wonderful year ahead and that you can achieve all your goals! Don't forget to dream big!**

 **Thank you for following this story into another new year! I am so thrilled that this story has received so much love!**

 **Without further ado~**

* * *

 **Chapter 41**

 **No More Lies**

* * *

 **[December 11 2011]**

 **2:09 PM**

Harry stepped out of the Floo and into Draco's office, smiling as he made a beeline to the blond's desk.

"How are you?" he asked as Draco came around the desk and motioned to the sofas.

The blond smiled and said, "I've been better." Harry could tell that he hadn't been sleeping very well from the bags under his eyes and the exhaustion that clung to him.

They sat down, Harry on his usual armchair and Draco on the sofa, and the latter motioned to the folder in Harry's hands. "Were you able to complete it?"

Harry nodded as he handed Draco the folder containing his task from quite a while ago that he hadn't had the chance to sit down and work on, feeling like it had been far too long since he had come to Antares for the originally intended purpose. Considering all that had happened recently, he wondered how it was that his nightmares had stopped waking him up and how he was able to fall asleep without taking a Dreamless Sleep Draught, since they hadn't really had any proper sessions. Perhaps mental and physical exhaustion had more to do with it than anything.

He set the thought aside when Draco looked up from the length of parchment, his gentle Mind Healer smile in place. "This is quite an extensive list," he remarked, taking off his reading glasses and letting them hang from their chain around his neck. "I couldn't help but notice that most of these childhood memories are from your time at Hogwarts and not before."

Harry stiffened, not having considered that Draco would take notice of it, since Harry barely every thought about his first ten years of life. He swallowed as he forced down those unpleasant memories, a bitter taste in his mouth.

"Really?" he said, feigning surprise. "I didn't realise."

Draco's smile was still in place, but there was a knowing look in his eyes. He nodded. "Would you like to tell me about the time you went to the zoo with your aunt, uncle and cousin?" he asked, placing the sheet down on the table and turning it towards Harry.

 _No, I wouldn't,_ Harry wanted to say, surprised by how venomous he was feeling. Forcing a smile onto his face, he nodded and began his tale. "For Dudley's eleventh birthday we had gone to the zoo—well, I was taken very begrudgingly because they didn't trust me enough to leave me at home—and back then, I didn't know I was a wizard and had magic in me. So, although there were times when strange things would happen when I was emotionally distraught, I never thought too much about it."

He shrugged. "This was one such time. I was standing at a Boa Constrictor exhibit, and all of a sudden the snake was talking to me. I thought I was imagining it, but nobody else seemed to understand what it was saying except me, and I was thrilled. Then, Dudley saw the constrictor, shoved me aside, and started making fun of me for talking to it. I was angry, to say the least, and before I realised what was happening, the glass enclosure had disappeared, and Dudley had fallen into the exhibit.

"Of course, the constrictor used the opportunity to escape, even thanking me before leaving, but when Petunia and Vernon came to help Dudley out, the glass was back, and Dudley was trapped inside."

Harry stared at his hands, wondering why, now that he had related the story out loud for the first time so many years later, there was nothing amusing about it at all. "I suppose, thinking back, that it must've been a horrific experience for them. I mean, I was a child and didn't know that it was my magic that had caused it to happen, so I thought that they got what was coming to them, when actually it was just my resentment turned into an act of revenge by my magic."

By the time he had reached the end of his monologue, his voice was quiet, and he fell silent, still staring at his hands. He swallowed thickly, feeling a telltale burn in the corner of his eyes and a knot form in his stomach.

He hated thinking about his childhood before Hogwarts. Every time he had thought about it in the past, it only served to anger him and make him vengeful and seethe with resentment. It would take him a long time to calm down and tell himself that what was done couldn't be undone, but it could be forgiven and forgotten. That was another reason why he had never spoken about it with anybody—not Ron, not Hermione, not even Ginny. It was also why he hadn't written about it in the task Draco had given him—except for very specific ones—where he had to list out some of his favourite childhood memories.

After all, even his horrifying experiences with Voldemort barely affected him as much as the scars from living with the Dursleys did. It always made him feel bitter and he would curse the universe for inflicting so much pain on an innocent child who had done nothing to deserve it. The longer he let himself dwell on the past, the more it affected him, and it took a lot of energy and will power to pull himself out of the black hole he would inevitably fall into.

Harry closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, willing himself to remain calm. Losing his temper on Draco would be to no avail; it would only serve to make him feel even worse once he had regained his senses. He knew the blond was only doing his job, and perhaps, just perhaps, he could help Harry let go of his resentment and move past what had happened, as he had with Harry's war trauma.

 _But has Draco actually done anything?_

He ignored the thought and looked up at Draco, making sure his smile was still in place. The blond seemed a bit hesitant, but his demeanour quickly regained its Mind Healer façade and he pointed to another line from the list. "What about this one?"

Harry leaned forward to read what he had written, his lips upturning in a small smile. "That happened on my eleventh birthday. It was the first time I met Hagrid." He chuckled fondly as he remembered the burly half-giant with his ever-ready smiles, his warm bear hugs, and his horrendous rock cakes. "There's a bit of back-story to it, actually," Harry continued, shifting in his seat. "When my first Hogwarts letter came, the Dursleys wouldn't let me touch it, let alone read it, probably because Petunia identified the Hogwarts seal and the Dursleys were as anti-magic as could be. I thought that would be the end of it, but letters kept coming, one after the other at first, then altogether, and the Dursleys, in a poor attempt to keep me away from everything magical, decided to take shelter in a faraway hideout for as long as necessary.

"Of course, it didn't turn out to be a very long stay, because Hagrid appeared at midnight on my birthday, with a cake and all—one he baked himself, mind you—" Harry chuckled at the memory, "—and then he went about explaining to me that I was a wizard and that I had magic in my veins and that my parents were renowned in the wizarding community." Harry shook his head, swiping at his eye. "Of course, I thought he was completely mental—until he lit a fire with his umbrella-wand and made a pig's tail grow out of Dudley's bottom."

He laughed despite feeling an immense need to cry, and finished his story. "Well, it's safe to say that is definitely one of my favourite memories. You should've seen the expression on the Dursleys' faces! Merlin, it was priceless."

Draco's expression had softened and his smile seemed to be more genuine this time. He pointed at another sentence on the list and said, "What about this one?"

"That happened in my second year," Harry said. "Not before I was eleven."

Draco nodded. "Yes, you've written as much, but would you like to tell me about this as well?"

Harry sighed before he could catch himself, and in order to not make it seem like he was exasperated with Draco, he tried to cheerfully narrate that particular tale. "Well, there isn't much to tell. It was the first summer I spent at the Burrow—the Weasleys' house, I mean—and it was definitely the best summer of my childhood."

"That's nice," Draco said, although he didn't sound convinced. "How did you get to the Burrow? Did your aunt and uncle drive you there?"

Harry snorted. "Hardly. In fact, they had made sure that I absolutely wouldn't be able to leave the house, going so far as to bar my window shut and put locks on the outside of my door." He scratched his ear, not wanting to talk about it anymore, but once the floodgates had been opened, everything was pouring out uncontrollably. "Ron and Fred and George came to get me in the family's flying Ford Anglia—without their parents' knowledge, of course—and they had to rip the bars off and pull me and my trunk out the window. We managed to escape just as the Dursleys entered the room, and boy, was that some adventure. Coincidentally it happened on the night of my twelfth birthday."

Draco was silent. He didn't point at anything else or ask Harry to narrate another story. Instead, he just sat waiting, as though he knew Harry had more to say—which, to the latter's surprise, he did.

"Thank goodness I had my own bedroom back then," he said, his eyes unfocused, struggling as the memories pushed against one another in an attempt to burst back to the surface. "I dunno how I would've escaped if I still slept in that little cupboard under the stairs." He looked up at Draco then, wild-eyed with frenzy, his heart running a marathon in his chest as his traumatic childhood broke through all his walls and cascaded down on him. "Every day, you know, when Dudley would climb down the stairs, he would jump up and down over the cupboard, and the dust would always start a fit of coughing, which inevitably forced me awake. It was his way of saying good morning, I suppose."

"I've always wondered, you know," he continued, talking fast, feeling the darkness spread from within, the adrenaline coursing through him like a drug, "why no one came to take me away. After the time Ron and the twins rescued me, I'm sure they would've suspected something. If not Ron, the twins would've at least been able to gauge what was going on and must've told Molly and Arthur. I wonder why they never did anything. Maybe the Burrow was so crowded already that they couldn't afford to let me stay for an extended period of time."

The words coming out of his mouth were all rationalisations of why nobody had saved him from the Dursleys. He had pondered over that for years, wondering why nobody, nobody, _nobody_ had ever thought to take him away.

"Dumbledore told me I _had_ to stay with the Dursleys," he said, recollecting that particular conversation. "That Petunia's blood protected me from Voldemort or something. I never fully understood that; don't think I ever will. McGonagall knew, too, I'm sure. She always seemed sympathetic when I told her that I didn't have anyone to sign my permission slip in Third Year, for the visits to Hogsmeade. Well, not that she ever agreed to sign them for me either, so I suppose it makes sense she never took me away from the Dursleys as well."

By now he was just blabbering, unconcerned of whether or not what he was saying even made sense, his hands fisted on his knees, his nails digging into his palm hard enough to pierce the skin.

"I could've stayed with Sirius, you know? But the man was barely hanging onto reality himself, and he was still a wanted criminal, so it made sense that he didn't want to put me in harms way. At least he wrote me all the time. Ron and Hermione wrote me as well, but not as frequently, you know? You'd think, being my best friends and all, they'd find some way to contact me or meet me during the holidays, you know?"

He was breathing hard, rocking back and forth in his seat, sweat pouring down his face, feeling dizzy and faint. He was panicking and very close to hyperventilating—it was a familiar feeling, one he could identify—but Draco didn't seem to want to stop him or help him. He just sat perfectly still, allowing Harry to rant and yell out his petty feelings of resentment and bitterness. He wanted to be stopped—to be forced into shutting up, but the blond seemed content with letting him burn himself out.

"Why didn't they come?" he whispered, asking out loud the question he had asked himself so, so, so many times. Recalling a few memories had triggered all of his feelings of self-loathing and hatred and confusion as to why he hadn't gotten the childhood that everybody else had been lucky enough to. "Why didn't they come save me? Why did they leave me to be the Dursleys prisoner?" He slammed his fists on his knees, the pain reverberating through him. "I was a child!" He gasped for breath. "I knew nothing! Nothing! And they left me to fend for myself, all alone, letting myself be abused because I couldn't do anything else!"

He was shaking uncontrollably now, spittle clinging to the corners of his mouth, his vision hazy, and Draco finally seemed to decide that Harry had suffered enough. He waved his wand, and Harry closed his eyes, waiting for a jinx to hit him, thinking Draco would knock him out, but nothing happened. When he opened them again, he saw the blond standing over him, a glass of water in one hand and the other easing him back into the seat.

"Shh," he said, gently stroking Harry's hair. "It's alright. It's going to be alright. Here, drink this."

Harry took the glass with trembling hands, spilling quite a bit of it, and gulped it down, relieved at the coolness that spread down his throat. "Breathe," Draco was instructing him as he took away the glass. "Inhale deeply and then exhale," and Harry did so, clutching the armrests like his life depended on it. Closing his eyes, he focused on the soothing back-and-forth motion of Draco stroking his hair, feeling his panic attack slowly subside, a familiar calmness spreading from within.

 _Calming Draught,_ his mind supplied helpfully.

He wasn't sure how much time passed, but once his heartbeat had settled and his breathing had returned to normal, he slowly opened his eyes and fixed them on the blond.

"How're you feeling?" Draco asked gently, an apologetic smile on his face.

"You should've stopped me when you saw that I was losing it," Harry muttered.

Draco's hand stilled for a moment before resuming in its stroking. "I should've," he agreed, "but if I had, then you would've never had the chance to confront your demons."

"Some demons aren't meant to be confronted," Harry retorted, his voice strained.

"I agree." Draco knelt down before Harry, his hand slipping from Harry's hair to rest on his knees. "But seeing how you making me confront my demons has helped me more than I can imagine, I only thought it right that I do the same for you."

Harry knew Draco was using his words to manipulate Harry into believing that the whole thing had been his idea. It was a common tactic Aurors used to get criminals to confess to their crimes, and although he knew and understood it, he was much too exhausted to fight it.

"I'm sorry for my outburst," Harry said with a sigh. "There's a reason I've never spoken about my past with anybody."

"Not even your friends?"

Harry shook his head. "I resent them for never trying to help me when I'm the one that never asked for help," he said, laughing dryly. "I'm sure, if I had told any of them how cruel the Dursleys were, they would've whisked me away from there in a matter of seconds."

Draco asked the question Harry had never wanted to ask himself. "Why didn't you?"

He shrugged. "I suppose, despite everything, the fact that they were my only family, related to me by blood, kept me from leaving. I never knew my parents, and once I found out about them, I suppose I wanted to see Petunia as the woman who was my mother's sister rather than the woman who treated me like a slave." He smiled wryly. "It's easy for children to rationalise away bad things and believe that they deserve whatever is happening to them, after all."

Draco took Harry's hands and looked at his palms, where his nails had left deep semi-circles in his skin. The blond brought his head down and pressed kisses to the marks, and Harry suddenly felt overwhelmed. He blinked away the tears that prickled his eyes and swallowed back the lump in his throat, feeling undeserving of Draco's affection.

"I'm sorry," the blond said against Harry's skin, his warm breath tickling Harry. "I'm sorry that I never knew."

"You're the last person I want to hear an apology from," Harry said softly as he took Draco's face in his hands and forced the man to look at him.

Raw emotions danced in Draco's eyes, and Harry realised that it must've been a shock for the blond to see Harry that way. He probably hadn't expected Harry to react in such an extreme way. Harry didn't blame him one bit. That Draco still loved him, despite all of his flaws and the darkness within him, was more than he could ask for.

 _Ah,_ he thought as he leaned down to press a soft kiss to the blond's lips. _I get it now._

Draco didn't have to be Harry's Mind Healer for him to get over his trauma. Just seeing how much a man who was just as damaged as him loved him had helped Harry accept himself for who he was, despite all of his scars and shortcomings. The fact that he felt the same way about Draco and had helped the blond accept himself in the same way had further facilitated Harry's healing.

His trauma had always been psychological, after all. It was only just then that he realised that all he had needed was for someone who had faced the same things, on the same level, to look past everything and give himself to Harry completely.

"I think," he said, pulling back, "I finally understand why I have never been able to fully trust someone and give myself completely to them."

"And why's that?" Draco asked, his eyes bright and his gaze steady.

"I think it's because I never fully trusted myself." Harry inhaled deeply. "Even now, the weight of all the people I couldn't protect overweighs all the ones I could. I know it's foolish of me to hold myself to such a high ideal, but I think because that was what people expected of me, somewhere along the way that ideal became my reality. I think that's why sometimes I feel estranged from even the people who are closest to me. Because all of them, at some point of time, expected me to save them, in one way or another."

Harry exhaled shakily, a renewed sense of admiration for the blond washing over him. "I think that's why I'm able to trust you and open myself to you so completely. Because you're the only person who never expected that of me. You never even expected to be saved by someone in the first place. Despite not wanting to, you inevitably took on the burden of healing yourself on your own. I think that's what I've been searching for this entire time."

He brushed Draco's cheeks gently with his thumb, gazing deep into those silver orbs that had opened up a whole new world for him. "I think, this whole time, you're the one that I've been waiting for."

Draco's eyes glittered with unshed tears, and he looked shocked beyond words. Harry smiled and leaned forward, closing his eyes as he kissed the blond.

 _I understand now why this doesn't feel wrong at all,_ he thought as Draco wound his arms around Harry and pulled him closer. _Because, no matter how cliché it sounds, the two of us were meant to be. We really are two halves of the same whole, and now that I've realised this, I don't think I'll ever be able to let him go._

When Draco deepened the kiss and tightened his hold on Harry, the latter realised that he wasn't the only one who felt that way.

* * *

 **5:15 PM**

He sighed as he shuffled out of the Floo and into his study, tossing his coat onto the chair as he trudged towards the door.

Draco and Harry had spent a long time opening up to each other about their childhood. The blond had admitted that he had been raised to believe that he stood over everyone else and that everybody should kneel at his feet. Draco had followed his father's every word without question, and by the time he had realised that his father was unable to deal with the consequences of his decisions, it had been too late. Draco had been unable to escape his fate—one he had walked right into without a second thought—and if not for Voldemort's demise and various other people constantly pushing him to his feet, he probably would've wasted away.

Harry, for his part, had recollected briefly his ten years before Hogwarts. He hadn't gone into much detail because Draco had looked horrified enough as it was, but just opening up about it had freed Harry of a great burden. He felt so light after that conversation that if he were to close his eyes and exhale, he would probably float away. Now, finally at home, the decades of feelings he had locked up were taking a toll on him. Exhaustion was creeping into his bones, holding him down like deadweight and keeping him anchored to reality.

He made his way into the master bedroom, stifling a yawn as he carelessly threw his tie aside and began to undress.

"You're home early."

He looked over his shoulder to see Ginny walk in and pick up the discarded tie, smoothing it before Levitating it to its place in the wardrobe. She took Harry's Auror robes and Levitated them into the hamper, placing his shoes on the stand by the door along the way. She watched as he pulled on a loose T-shirt and sweatpants and smiled genially.

"You look exhausted."

"I am," Harry said, clearing his throat when his voice cracked.

Ginny came closer and studied his face, her gaze intense and questioning. "Have you been crying?" she asked, to Harry's surprise.

"No," he said with a smile, although his brows were furrowed. "Why, does it look like I have?"

Ginny hummed in thought but didn't say anything as she moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Harry settled down beside her, sensing that there was something on her mind. When she stared ahead for a long while, absently picking at the skin at the base of her thumbnail, Harry reached over to take her hand and asked, "What is it?"

She looked up at him, the conflict in her chocolate-brown eyes unsettling. "Ginny," he tried again, and she sighed.

"I dunno," she mumbled, looking away. She seemed to be struggling to say something, and Harry didn't want to rush her despite wanting to know what it was that was troubling her because he knew that would only serve to make things worse.

So he just sat there, watching her, his hand still holding hers, as he waited for her to speak. She opened her mouth a few times and closed it, losing her nerve at the last minute, and finally, with a frustrated sound, she said, "Hermione was telling me about Narcissa Malfoy's funeral…"

She trailed off, as though wanting Harry to respond before she could continue. He wondered why she was bringing this up again and also what Hermione had told her that Harry himself hadn't, but set his thoughts aside as he said, "Yeah?"

Ginny shrugged a shoulder. "The way she was describing the interactions between you and Mal—Draco," she corrected quickly, "it seemed to me like the two of you have always been friends and were never enemies. Is that… strange? Am I weird for not being able to just accept your friendship as it is?"

She was looking at him with such a beseeching expression on her face that Harry didn't have the heart to berate her. He smiled. It was heart-warming to see that his wife was trying so hard for his sake—something that was rather rare when it came to Ginny. Harry was usually the people-pleaser. Ginny preferred blunt honesty over feigned niceties. It was an argument they had had countless times before, where Harry would preach to her about his philosophy to 'kill them with kindness' while Ginny would vehemently argue that being straightforward was best. Neither was wrong; Harry was an Auror, hence subtle manipulation through kindness had become second nature to him. Ginny, on the other hand, being a journalist, depended heavily on brutal honesty and the need to relay nothing but the hard facts and the cold truth.

Sometimes both adopted the other's approach when their own failed, but neither was willing to let go of their way of doing things for the sake of the other's. It had been so since the very beginning, and it was something that would never change. It was a part of their core personalities, after all, and every argument always ended in a stalemate where both would concede to agree to disagree. That seemed to be the basic dynamic of their marriage, and whether or not it worked was something neither of them chose to question.

"It's not weird," Harry said. "In fact, I'm surprised you haven't had more to say about it."

Ginny shrugged, looking past Harry. "I was going to, but—" she broke off with a frown and shook her head. Looking back at Harry, she said, "He's good for you. That much anybody can see."

Harry nodded. "He really is."

They gazed into each other's eyes for a long moment, and Harry could almost see the gears clicking and whirring behind Ginny's eyes. After a time, she whispered so softly that he thought he had misheard her, "You're in love with him, aren't you?"

Harry jerked back involuntarily, almost pulling his hand away before tightening his grip on her fingers. He swallowed, his heart racing. "Wh—I don't—" he stuttered, taken by complete surprise, and he knew his reaction had given him away.

Tears filled Ginny's eyes and she moved away, pulling her hand from his grasp. She laughed shakily then sobbed, swiping at her eyes with her sleeves, refusing to look at Harry.

"Ginny," Harry said, desperate, not knowing what to do. He was panicking while trying not to panic, and he was much too exhausted to come up with a believable lie to save his skin.

"You don't have to," she said, holding a hand up when he reached out to her. "You don't have to lie to me. I kind of had a hunch when I spoke to Astoria after you and Al had gone over to Malfoy Manor. She said she _saw something,_ but she wouldn't tell me what, and I was too afraid to ask. And then when he called you on your cell phone and you told me you were friends. I didn't think it was true because of your history, but after talking to Hermione and seeing your reaction just now…"

She broke off with a sob and covered her face with her hands. When Harry reached out to comfort her, she shrugged away. So he was left to sit staring at her, not knowing what to do, knowing it was too late to lie his way out of it. He suddenly thought that, after the day's revelations, he didn't _want_ to lie. He _wanted_ someone besides him and Draco—and Zabini—to know about his feelings, and he felt a sense of twisted satisfaction, immediately guilty that he could even think such things in such a situation.

"Ginny, let me explain," he began, not knowing what exactly it was he was going to explain, but his wife just shook her head and moved to the opposite side of the bed. She pulled her knees up to her chest and propped her chin on them, staring Harry down. He sat perfectly still, feeling like even the slightest movement would reveal more than he wanted or needed.

"I guess this is probably when I should tell you that I'm probably in love with Matt."

Harry blinked.

"I'm sorry, what?"

Ginny shrugged.

"I don't need to justify anything to you, I reckon."

Harry stared.

"…I reckon not."

There was silence. _Is she lying?_ his mind questioned as the tension grew to an extent that if cut, it would snap with force enough to bruise.

"What's happened to us?" Ginny whispered after a long moment, her voice broken, and Harry let out a ragged breath.

"Where did we go wrong?" he murmured, and she shook her head, burying it in her knees as she began to cry again. He crawled over to her and pulled her into his arms, and she collapsed against his chest, her petite frame wracked with sobs.

It was a long time before she calmed down, and Harry blinked away the wetness in his eyes as she pulled away and looked up at him. "What do we do?" she asked, sounding helpless.

Harry shrugged. "I don't know."

"I won't see him again if you don't want me to," Ginny said, her fingernails digging into his skin. There was something shimmering deep in her eyes as she looked up at him, as though challenging him. "But you won't stop seeing Malfoy even if I ask you not to, will you?"

Harry shook his head slowly, knowing he couldn't lie anymore—not _wanting_ to lie anymore. "I can't. I can't, Ginny. He's my Mind Healer. I'm sorry I didn't tell you before, but I signed a non-disclosure agreement and I didn't think—" he stopped himself before he went down the path of pathetic excuses, saying, instead, the truth. "He's the reason my nightmares are gone. He's the reason I'm able to sleep peacefully again. He's the reason I'm _finally_ getting over all my trauma."

She stared straight into his eyes, tears staining her flushed cheeks, and he didn't have the courage to look away. Finally, she nodded curtly and pushed him away. "Alright. I understand."

"Ginny—"

"I get it, Harry. And I don't blame you. Well, I do, but I also blame myself. I drove you so far away that you had to seek refuge elsewhere. This is my fault. This is both our faults. Maybe we were never meant to be together, to begin with."

"Don't say that," Harry said immediately, grabbing her wrist when she stood. "Please don't say that."

"But it's the truth!" she shrieked, snapping her wrist out of his grasp as she spun around to face him.

He flinched from the power of her voice, and both automatically looked towards the door, waiting with bated breath, as though expecting someone to burst into the room and intervene. There was silence, and once they were sure Ginny's outburst hadn't carried downstairs to where the kids were, they turned back to one another.

"Tell me honestly," Ginny began, tears flowing down her cheeks freely now, "if it weren't for Voldemort and the war and other such circumstances, do you think the two of us would've ended up together?" She sniffed. "I don't. I've always loved you, Harry, there's no doubt about that, but I've always wondered if you would've chosen me if things were different."

She started to pace, her hands mussing her short hair like she did when she was under stress. "I've always wondered this, every time we had a particularly nasty fight, and I can't help but think that Fate, or the universe, or whatever forced our hand and gave us no option but to choose each other. We ended up together out of sheer desperation—don't try to disagree, you know it's true—and maybe we could've fallen in love like regular people if our lives weren't constantly in jeopardy—especially yours, The Boy Who Lived, The Chosen One, the one whose entire life was a constant rollercoaster of running away and trying to catch up—" she paused abruptly and threw her hands in the air. "We both needed someone to love and someone to love us. We needed to be _needed._ We needed the comfort of someone who had suffered the same things. I could go on and on and on, but my point is that if things were different, we may never have found the need to be together!"

"But things _weren't_ different," he said, once she had finished her angry monologue. He came to stand in front of her, her words resonating with his own that he had questioned so many, many times before himself. He wanted to agree, but he knew if he did, that would be the end of everything. "I've asked myself the same question a hundred times before too, but, Ginny, things _weren't_ different and we _did_ end up together, whether or not our choices and situation had anything to do with it."

"But you're still in love with Malfoy, aren't you?" she wailed, smacking his hands away when he tried to hold her.

"Ginny," he said, because that was pretty much the only thing he could think of to say. She was hysterical, and he wasn't exactly in the right frame of mind either, much too physically and emotionally spent to think rationally. "You said you love Matt, too, didn't you?" he added, not knowing why, regretting it when she glared at him.

"I only said that to make you angry!"

Harry frowned, confused. "I don't under—"

"Forget it!" she yelled, throwing her hands in the air and storming to the door. He caught her before she could open it.

"If you really don't want me to…" he trailed off, unable to even finish the sentence. She looked up at him, disappointment clear on her face.

"The only reason I'm forgiving you is because you forgave me for what happened with Grant," she said through gritted teeth.

 _I barely did anything half as terrible as you!_ he wanted to yell, but his mouth was sealed shut. He had neither the energy nor the intention to pick a fight with her. She made to leave, but he tightened his grip on her wrist. "Let me go, Harry," she said, her voice low.

"I'm can't let this family fall apart," he said, his voice breaking. The only thing he had ever wanted his whole life was a family of his own. And 'one true love' or not, he wasn't about to give that up for anyone or anything. Yes, he was selfish, but he felt his selfishness was justified after everything he had to go through. The least the saviour of the wizarding world could ask for was a family to love and cherish, was it not?

Ginny must have heard the way his voice cracked because she glanced over her shoulder at him. "Tell me what to do," he begged, desperately wanting the conversation to be over so he could succumb to his exhaustion and sleep, but not wanting it to end on a bad note simultaneously. "Please."

She half-turned so she was facing him, and there was something akin to sympathy on her face. It wasn't that she pitied him; it was more that she understood where he was coming from.

 _She should, what with her sleeping with Grant and all._

Ginny sighed, eyeing Harry's shoulder, refusing to meet his eyes. "If I told you to cut all ties with Malfoy, would you? _Could_ you?"

He had expected the question, but he hesitated nonetheless. When she finally looked up at his face, he nodded once, his jaw set. Every fibre in his body was screaming _No!_ but he knew that if that was what was necessary to save his family, then so be it.

 _I will never put my kids through anything close to what I had to go through._

Ginny stared at him for so long without moving that someone could've Petrified her without Harry's knowledge. She finally cracked a small, sad smile. "I kept you from finding your love once; I won't do it again."

"Gin—"

"Jamie, Al and Lily are my children as much as they are yours, Harry," she said quietly, cutting him off, turning her gaze away from him to fix it on her other hand that was still clutching the doorknob, so tightly that her knuckles were white. "I will die for them, as I know you will. Taking them away from you after knowing this is something I can't do, no matter how unhappy I am." She continued to eye the knob, rubbing her finger back and forth along the worn-out bronze surface.

"I've had quite a bit of time to ponder over this, and the more I think about how much of a positive effect he's had on you, the less anger and resentment I can feel," she continued in a resigned voice, like the outcome of that conversation had long been decided, and Harry had no say in the matter. "I regret that he could give you what I couldn't, but there's nothing I can do about it now. It's too late to cry over spilt milk. I can only watch as someone else cleans up a mess that was meant for me to clean."

She quieted then, and they stood there, neither moving nor saying anything, Ginny's hand still on the doorknob and Harry's still holding onto her wrist. Finally, she looked over her shoulder and asked in a small, tearful voice, "Does he make you happy?"

Harry swallowed past the lump in his throat and inhaled shakily. He knew that one word could effectively make or break their relationship, and he hesitated, unwilling to let everything Ginny and he had fought so hard for, for so many years, to go to waste. He almost denied his feelings just to salvage what was already a broken marriage, but his conscience wouldn't let him.

 _No more lies. No more._ "Yes," he finally whispered, his heart breaking when he saw the way she seemed to just fold in on herself.

Ginny finally turned the knob with a little sob and left the room, leaving Harry alone with his tumultuous thoughts and emotions. _Why is she so ready to give up on me?_ his mind asked. _On us?_ But he knew the answer before the question was even asked. That was Ginny's nature. She held on too hard and gave in too easily. Once she had made up her mind about something, no one in the world could change it. That much had been made clear to him repeatedly in all the years they had known one another. It had been rubbed in his face not too recently when she had decided to handle the situation with Grant and Dan all on her own.

He wanted to resent her for it, but he couldn't. _Because I'm the same._ Perhaps the problem wasn't that they were too different, but that they were too alike.

 _Is it all really worth this?_ He conscience questioned, Draco's face flashing through his mind. _Is he worth hurting so many people dear to you?_

The answer came to him as naturally as sleep did to an infant.

 _Yes._

And the admission only made everything exponentially worse.

* * *

 **A/n: Well... was that turn an unexpected one? I know y'all have been waiting for this for a while now, and when I started writing this chapter, it felt right to have a climax here before something new began.**

 **I especially loved building on Ginny's character here and having Harry admit that they both were more alike than he wanted to admit. My other favourite part was when he realised _why_ he had fallen for Draco. It's always nice to have these little revelations about your thoughts and feelings, no? I always love those sudden moments of enlightenment that cause you to introspect and gives you all these existential and philosophical thoughts. To be or not to be, that is the question!**

 **Annnyway~**

 **Let me know what you thought about this chapter! The next chapter is going to deal with Draco's reaction to Ginny and Harry's conversation, so look forward to that!**

 **A very, very happy new year again, and thank you for reading! I hope to satisfy your Drarry cravings this year as well~**

 **Lots of love,**

 **Arty xx**


	42. 42 Lies: New Decisions

**A/n: My apologies for taking this long to update. I've had a lot going on and a nearly year-long HP fanfiction writing competition called the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition came to an end today, with my team, the Falmouth Falcons, having reached the final round (here's to hoping we win!). So I really am apologetic for making you wait, but here it is!**

* * *

 **Chapter 42**

 **New Decisions**

* * *

 **[12 December 2011]**

 **1:45 PM**

Harry had spent the rest of the previous evening playing with the boys while Ginny and Lily cooked dinner. It was only once the kids were asleep that he had finally succumbed to his exhaustion and collapsed on the bed. He had fallen asleep before Ginny and had awoken after her, so he wasn't even sure if she had slept in their bedroom that night.

By the time he had gotten dressed and gone downstairs, Ginny had already fed the kids and was getting ready to drop them off at school. She had only paused to inform him that his breakfast was on the table and that she would be home late from work before disappearing with the gush of the Floo.

Harry had been left alone to clean up after himself, secure the house, and then leave to work. The morning had dragged on for an unnaturally long time as he had dealt with paperwork, and the moment he could break for lunch, he made a quick stop to see Draco and then tell him of what had happened.

"I'm sorry things had to happen this way," Draco said with a sigh, looking just as worn out as Harry felt.

"I am too," Harry replied, offering the blond a small, sympathetic smile. He knew Draco was having a hard time as it was because of his mother's passing, and Harry really hadn't wanted to bother him so early on a Monday morning. But he knew Draco wouldn't have appreciated if Harry had kept such crucial information from him out of sympathy and had therefore decided to make a pit stop at Antares before heading to the Ministry.

"Have you…" Draco began and trailed off with a vague hand gesture. "Have you spoken to her about what she wants to do?"

Harry shook his head. He knew that conversation was unavoidable, but he wanted to postpone it for a little longer, nonetheless.

Draco nodded, looking lost in thought. After an inordinately long time, he said, "Well, this doesn't necessarily have to mean that your marriage has to come to an end. A person having multiple partners _is_ accepted in the wizarding community after all. It's just that it isn't as widely practiced anymore."

Harry remained silent, considering that thought. _Well, I suppose it_ could _work, if all the parties involved accepted it._ Then he shook his head. That wasn't for him to decide. Wanting to have both Draco and Ginny to himself was much too selfish and was not something he wanted to put either of them through.

Whether he wanted to or not, he knew that both he and Ginny had to make a choice, and that thought just remained at the back of his mind, nagging and eating away at him constantly.

The two men sat in silence for a time, each lost in their own thoughts, and they were startled out of their stupor by a shrill ringing. Harry all but threw himself at his coat and fumbled with his phone as he squinted at the screen to see who was calling. His heart sank when he saw Ron's name, and his mind jumped to all the worst-case scenarios possible as he threw a cursory glance in Draco's direction before answering the call.

"Hey, Ron, what's the matt—"

"Mate, have youseen the paper yet?" Ron interrupted, practically screaming in Harry's ear and making him wince.

"What paper?"

"Whadya mean, what paper? The Prophet, Harry, the Prophet!"

"Do you have today's Prophet?" Harry whispered to Draco, who nodded in reply and Summoned the newspaper from his desk, before returning his attention to Ron. "What's in the paper that's got your pants in a knot?"

"You'll see when you turn to page four."

"Page four," Harry mouthed to Draco, who flipped open the paper. He paused for a second and then paled, his eyes going wide.

Harry practically jumped out of his seat and dashed over to see what the spectacle was, muting the phone call. At the very top of the page, in bold, was the headline:

A FINE LINE BETWEEN LOVE AND HATE

Below it was Rita Skeeter's name—Harry felt his blood start to boil at that—and a rather large coloured image that showed Draco throwing his arms around Harry and hugging him tight while Harry wrapped his arms around the blond.

"How in Merlin's name did she even get this picture?" Draco gasped, shocked. "It was a private funeral that barely anybody knew about, and the security was so tight, even an insect couldn't have gotten through!"

"Apparently it did," Harry muttered, remembering Skeeter's Animagus form. He sighed. "What I'm more curious about is why she waited this long to publish an article about it. It's been four days."

Draco tossed the paper aside and closed his eyes as he worked on calming himself. His cheeks were flushed and he was clearly upset that Skeeter had gone and made a debacle out of his mother's funeral. Harry ran a hand up and down his back in soothing motions, waiting until he regained his composure.

The blond cleared his throat and began reading the article as Ron, whom Harry had nearly forgotten about, said, "Did you read it yet?"

"Give me a minute," Harry said after un-muting the call. He quickly skimmed the article and bit back a sigh. The entire article just consisted of Skeeter re-telling Harry and Draco's tumultuous relationship, the Malfoys siding Voldemort, and a bunch of other fabricated rubbish based on rumours and heresy. You didn't even have to read between the lines to be able to tell that she was heavily hinting at the fact that their enmity may have been a cover for their _real_ relationship—which, apparently, they had revealed at Narcissa's funeral. Although she wasn't completely off the mark, it still angered him nonetheless that she was still willing to pull stunts like this for publicity. He told Ron he would call him back and fixed his attention on Draco.

The blond's shoulders were taut as he finished reading the article, and he looked like he wanted to scream. "What—what ludicrously!" His voice was choked and trembling. "How could they publish something like this? I won't stand for it!"

"Draco," Harry said gently, and he waited until the blond tore his gaze away from the article and fixed it on Harry. His eyes were stormy, anger swimming in them, and Harry felt a swell of sympathy for the man. With all the things Draco was going through, this was not something that he needed just now.

They looked at each other, neither speaking, a silent communication passing between them, and Draco finally sighed. He tossed the Prophet aside and leant forward, elbows on his knees and clasped fingers pressed against his mouth, as he brooded. Harry left him be and re-read the article, grinding his teeth in frustration at the garbage Skeeter had written.

After a considerable amount of time had passed, Draco asked, "So, what do we do about this?" nodding at the newspaper with a disgusted look on his face.

"Well, if we were to actively deny it, it would only give her the attention she wants," Harry said matter-of-factly.

Draco hummed in thought, his stormy eyes shimmering with a glint of something dangerous. After a moment, he looked at Harry, the corners of his mouth tugging up in a sneer. "The only way to completely dismiss her is if we played along and turned this into a publicity stunt for _us,_ instead of her."

Harry raised an eyebrow, a tad wary from the evil glint in Draco's eyes. "A publicity stunt for what?"

Draco tilted his head, his eyes half-closing and his gaze intensifying. His sneer turned into a slow, smug smirk, his bangs falling over his eyes. It sent shivers down Harry's spine and he swallowed, berating himself for finding Draco so unbelievably attractive in such an inappropriate situation.

"Do you still want to go forward with that museum idea of yours?" Draco asked, his voice silken and his eyes glittering, like a viper just before it pounced on its prey.

"Huh," Harry said as he batted away the unscrupulous thoughts and considered what Draco was implying. "I mean," he finally said when the blond raised his brows in question, "I don't see why not. I'm pretty sure some of the dark artefacts we collected were used in one or both wars, and I still have that vase, plus a few other trinkets."

Draco nodded. "I'm sure the Manor has more than enough war memorabilia as well, and I remember Blaise telling me that he had collected several during his travels. As for where we would build this museum—it would have to be a central place."

"Actually," Harry said, his heart racing with anticipation now, "when Hermione and I originally discussed this idea, it was because we thought that alongside the war memorial at Hogwarts, we should also have a museum that showcased the truth of what happened and why and how people died."

Draco's eyes widened. "That… is a brilliant idea. Do you think McGonagall…?"

"She may have been against it a few years ago, but with the constant pressure Hogwarts has been getting of late to expand its reach to more than just Britain, and the constant arguments with the Ministry over the memorial's budget cut, this may be a good way for them to not only gain more publicity, but also revenue at the same time."

"I think… this may just work," Draco mused. "And, if it actually does, it would serve Skeeter right," he added, sounding a little bitter.

Harry nodded. "I'm still curious about why this was published so many days after the funeral, though."

"I think I have a fair idea about that," Draco said with a sigh. "Pansy—Pansy Parkinson, I think you remember her—is the Prophet's Editor-in-Chief. She probably refused to publish the article, but Skeeter is good friends with the publisher, Braylon Bigsby, and I'm sure she manipulated him into forcing Pansy to publish the article. Pansy must've put up a fight, if it took this long to publish it."

He seemed so sure that was what had happened that Harry didn't want to question him. It made considerable sense, though, since Pansy Parkinson was a good friend of Draco and would never publish something that tarnished his name if she could help it—especially something as ludicrous as Skeeter's article. _That's probably how they kept themselves out of the news for all these years,_ Harry suddenly realised. He had heard that Lucius Malfoy's friendship with the Prophet's previous Editor-in-Chief was how he had kept his and relevant others' names out of war-related articles for a very long time, and that had led to a rebellion within the publication's hierarchy.

Harry also knew that Pansy was the Editor-in-Chief because Ginny had told him so, when the former got promoted to the position. Ginny seemed to dislike her on principle at the beginning, but, as time went on, Harry could tell that Ginny respected Pansy's work acumen and ethics, even if she didn't say so out loud. They weren't exactly on friendly terms, but they kept out of each other's hair, which was good enough, considering their history.

 _That's probably why she took my friendship with Draco better than I expected,_ he mused. _Because she had seen first-hand that Pansy was a different person than back when we were in Hogwarts._

"I'll talk to Pansy and see if she can help us with our counter-plan," Draco was saying as he stood. "I'll discuss this with Blaise, first, and see what he thinks."

Harry nodded. Getting Zabini on board would be helpful, considering how much he knew about artefacts and their history and all that. "I'll talk to Hermione, too," he said as he moved towards the Floo. "And Neville. He'll be able to pass on information to McGonagall so she'll be interested in meeting us and taking it forward."

"Do you think this'll work?" Draco murmured, coming to stand beside Harry as he grabbed some Floo powder.

"Hopefully," Harry said, pushing back the uncertainty and doubt that crept into his mind. "I mean, we won't know unless we try, right?"

He wasn't sure whether it was what he said or the excitement of an inkling of an idea blossoming into reality that made the blond's expression shift. His eyes grew dark, like they did when Draco wanted something really bad and would stop at nothing until he got it. The corners of his lips tugged upwards in his trademark smirk, and when he hummed in affirmation to what Harry had said, it almost sounded like a purr.

Draco stepped closer so they were inches apart, his gaze fixed on Harry. He brushed the back of his fingers against Harry's, and a tingle ran down Harry's spine. Harry swallowed. The blond's smirk grew smug, as though he knew exactly what he was doing to Harry, and he leaned forward in the slightest, so their faces were a hair's breadth away from each other. Draco's gaze flickered down to Harry's lips, and Harry caught his breath, his heart running a marathon in his chest. Draco reached up and straightened Harry's collar, cool fingertips brushing against Harry's throat. Harry exhaled shakily, his composure slipping.

"I—I should go," he managed weakly, the Floo powder digging into his palm from clenching his fist tight. Draco tilted his head and licked his upper lip, and Harry said something intelligent like, "The office—lots of work—uh—"

"Of course," Draco all but purred, sweeping his hand towards the fireplace. Harry was rooted to the spot.

"I should—erm—" Harry mumbled when Draco's fingers lightly ran up Harry's arm. "Draco," he sighed, defeated, and the blond chuckled, a low rumbling sound in his throat that sent all of Harry's common sense flying out the window.

Harry threw down the Floo powder and grabbed Draco around the waist, pulling the blond flush against him, and Draco slowly glided his hands up Harry's arms and around his neck.

"Weren't you going to leave?" Draco murmured in a teasing tone, and Harry swore.

"You wily snake," Harry said as Draco slipped his fingers through Harry's hair and tightened his grip, sending a shudder through Harry.

"I suppose you won't mind if I—" Draco's breath was hot against Harry's mouth, "— _Slytherin?"_

Harry crushed his lips to Draco's, tightening his arms around the blond so the only thing between them was their robes. Draco all but moulded himself to Harry so even the slightest movement sent ripples of pleasure through them.

The kiss was fierce and raw; their tongues ravaged each other like insatiable beasts, Draco tugging at Harry's hair and Harry holding him pressed against him. Draco shifted his foot, and their hips ground against each other, making both men gasped into the kiss.

"This is bad," Harry managed as they broke apart, both panting, and Draco nodded.

"I think it's best—for you to leave."

"Yeah."

Neither moved, staring into each other's eyes, and both leaned forward for another kiss, their lips locking more gently this time. Harry loosened his hold around Draco's waist and splayed his fingers, moving his hands up Draco's back, making him sigh. Draco twisted and curled his fingers in Harry's hair and Harry inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of Draco's cologne, feeling a sense of satisfaction when he realised his own fragrance was mixed into it.

When they broke apart, Draco laughed, his lips wet and pink, his cheeks flushed, his immaculate hair falling over shimmering silver eyes. Harry grinned himself and leaned in to plant a quick peck on the blond's lips.

"I'll let you know what the others say once I've spoken to them," he said, reaching up to brush his thumb against Draco's lower lip.

Draco nipped his thumb and then sucked on it before saying coyly, "Yes, you will."

Harry cleared his throat and smiled, willing himself to not pounce on the blond, and then glanced at their feet, where green powder glittered. Draco waved his wand and Harry held his hand out as the powder came together in a ball and deposited itself in his palm.

"I better go," he said, although they both still had an arm around the other.

Draco wound his other arm around Harry's waist and kissed him one last time, biting his lower lip for good measure. "Yes, you better," he said, his voice deep, and then he cleared his throat, apparently embarrassed by the longing in his voice.

It took Harry an immense amount of willpower to step away from the blond and into the Floo. "I'll see you later," he called before throwing down the Floo powder and saying his destination.

Their eyes locked just before the green flames engulfed Harry, and he smiled, wondering if Draco was also thinking what he was thinking. He shifted his pants once he had stepped out of the Floo and straightened his robes, eyeing his reflection and wondering if anyone could tell that he'd just snogged Draco brainless before coming to work.

Luckily for him, before his mind wandered back to their steamy kiss, there was a knock on the door and Buxley poked his head in, holding up a file.

"You back, boss?" he asked, as though knowing what Harry had been up to.

He waved his deputy in as he took off his coat and settled back in his seat. Buxley gave him a once over and said, "Fight with the missus?"

Harry grimaced, remembering that the whole reason he'd gone to see Draco was Ginny. "What've you got for me?"

Buxley nodded sympathetically. "'S alright, boss. They get us on the best of days."

 _Either that,_ Harry thought as he pictured a dishevelled Draco with pink lips, _or them getting to us makes the best of days._

His mood had significantly improved, and he belatedly remembered to send Ron a quick text telling him and Hermione to come home for dinner that evening to discuss his museum plans.

* * *

 **10:17 PM**

Harry's gaze shifted from Ron to Hermione to Ginny and back as he waited for them to process what he had said. Ron had his elbow on the armrest and he scratched his chin, a brooding expression on his face. Ginny seemed distracted, her eyes constantly flickering to the Prophet on the table, and Harry knew she was thinking about the article. He didn't want to think about how that made her feel, his guilt forming a knot in his stomach.

Hermione was the one to finally reply. She nodded as her eyes skimmed the parchment Harry had jotted down some of his ideas. "You have my full support, of course," she said, although there was a slight edge to her voice.

"But?" he asked, sensing she was dissatisfied about something.

She shrugged. "I suppose I'm just surprised that you decided to go forward with _our_ idea with Mal—Draco."

Harry bit back a sigh. He had expected this. "'Mione, you and I both know that neither of us would've actually done anything about it. It was just something we talked about once or twice and forgot."

"Also because neither of us has the kind of money Mal—Draco's investing into this little project of yours."

"He's the one that originally pitched the idea to me," Harry said, trying to keep the bite out of his voice. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to remain calm if all three of them started taking jabs at Draco. "I had completely forgotten about our discussion until today, when he suggested we use this opportunity—" he gestured at the newspaper, "—to finally get somewhere with this idea. Besides," he continued when Hermione just scoffed, "I actually have a whole ton of Dark artefacts at my disposal and a vase that belonged to the Blacks, now, that I didn't have before. And Zabini apparently has collected a lot of war memorabilia. And we all know Malfoy Manor is full of things related to Voldemort and the war. Even if you and I had decided to do this before, Hermione, it wouldn't have worked out. You know that."

It took her a while, but Hermione finally sighed and nodded. "You're right. I'm sorry. It's not even like this was something I was very keen about, like you said. It was just a passing idea. Besides, I'd love to be a part of it."

Harry sighed in relief. "Good, because I need your input and help with the finer details. I came to you three the moment we even thought of this. Draco and I haven't discussed any of the logistics and technicalities, yet. I wanted your opinions before we decided to take this forward."

That seemed to placate Hermione, at least, if not Ron and Ginny. The two siblings still seemed lost in thought, and Harry had the urge to shake them by the shoulder and force them to speak.

"You know," Ron said finally, sounding disinterested. "Why am I even here?"

Harry frowned. "What do you mean?"

Ron shrugged. "Sure, 'Mione and you had discussed this before, and Ginny's your wife—"

"And you're my best friend," Harry interrupted.

"Sure." Ron waved his hand, as if that didn't really matter. "But of what use am I, really?"

"Ron," Harry said, exasperated. "Don't start, mate."

"I'm being serious—"

"So am I," Harry snapped. "Look, if you guys think this is stupid and a waste of your time, that's fine, I understand. It was just something I was excited about and thought you would be too, which is why I wanted to share this with you." They glanced at each other, looking sheepish. "But if you're just against this because of Draco, then—then forget it, alright? I can understand other people being petty about our friendship, but I didn't expect it from you guys, especially after everything you said."

He was mostly looking at Ron and Hermione because he didn't have the guts to look at Ginny, but he could still feel her accusatory gaze on him. A silent communication seemed to pass between Ron and Hermione, and Ron finally nodded with a sigh.

"Yeah, alright. What can I do?"

Harry picked up a piece of parchment and a quill and wrote down his plan for Ron, adding a diagram or two for better understanding. He turned the parchment towards Ron and tapped it. "I was hoping you'd be able to do this. I couldn't think of anyone else who could."

Ron examined the rough drawings and Harry's bullet points, making an impressed face. "This is… pretty good. You came up with this on your own?"

Harry smiled wryly. "It was actually Draco's idea. He uses similar holograms in his hospital, and he suggested we could do something like this in the museum. He was also the one that wanted me to ask you if you'd be able to design it."

Ron seemed conflicted about that, although he looked pleased, nevertheless. "Well, I don't see why not…"

Harry grinned. "Fantastic. Alright. Ginny." He turned to his wife, who had finally given in and picked up the newspaper. Harry was sure she was reading Skeeter's article, and Hermione and Ron's reactions confirmed it.

"Destroy that bloody thing," Ron boomed as Hermione took the paper from Ginny.

"You know how Skeeter is," she said gently, and Ginny offered her a grateful smile.

"You don't have to do this if you don't want to," Harry told her quietly, knowing the article must've really gotten to her. He remembered reading a line about whether Astoria and Ginny knew about his and Draco's relationship or if it was an extramarital affair, and that was too close to home for Ginny.

She shook her head, although she wouldn't meet his eyes. "I'm sure Pansy was opposed to this being published," she said, her voice quavering in the slightest. "Skeeter must've used Bigsby to get it printed. Either way, Pansy would be more than willing to turn this into publicity for you and Malfoy." She said his name bitterly, making Ron and Hermione exchange glances. "Besides, I could work with her to not only build on the publicity before the museum's construction, but also during its opening and after that."

Before she could change her mind, Harry decided to use the opportunity to tell her what he had planned for her. "There's also something else I wanted your help with." Ginny looked his way, but not at him. She was glancing over his shoulder and past him, at the wall. "I thought it would be a good idea if people proactively came forward to give their account of the war, or even provide us with any memorabilia that they thought belonged to the war. I thought it would be a good way to get everyone involved in this and make them feel like it was safe for them to talk about it and they didn't have to skirt around it and fear it anymore. So, I wanted you to take up a campaign of sorts and publicise it as much as possible."

"Oh, that's a wonderful idea," Hermione said, and even Ron nodded in approval.

Ginny cleared her throat. "Is that another one of Malfoy's ideas?"

" _Draco,"_ Harry said before he could stop himself, his voice strained, and Ginny finally met his eyes, only to glare at him. Ron and Hermione shifted uncomfortably. "And no, this one was actually my idea. It was inspired by what Draco does as a Mind Healer, though, so I suppose you may be right."

Ginny looked away, her eyes red and her jaw set, and Harry felt anger simmer just beneath the surface. He understood why Ginny was behaving the way she was. He knew he was the one at fault for snapping at her. But he just couldn't help it. It wasn't his fault that he fell in love with Draco, was it? OK, maybe it was, but Draco was a good man. A decent man. And he didn't deserve to be treated with contempt. Ginny knew exactly what to do to get under Harry's skin, she always had, and he always lost control over his emotions when it came to her. It had always been that way, and both of them knew it was unhealthy, but neither had cared about a few stupid fights until recently.

"I'm tired," Ginny suddenly announced, getting to her feet. Harry ground his teeth but didn't say anything, and the three of them watched her levitate the teacups and saucers to the kitchen before making her way to the doorway. She stopped abruptly and stood there, as though she'd forgotten that she was about to leave, and then she turned to Harry and said so softly, he almost didn't hear, "I wonder if you remember when you used to defend me the way you defend _him."_

Anger surged through Harry and he grit his teeth and clenched his fists as he tried to contain his rage. Ginny had left the room, but he still continued to stare at where she had been standing, wanting to punch something.

"Mate." Ron's voice cut through the ringing in his ears, and he fixed his attention on the redhead, anger thundering through his blood and making his heartbeat sound thrice as loud. Ron faltered, probably because he hadn't expected Harry to be that angry, and Hermione was anxiously glancing between the two of them.

"I think we should continue this some other time," Harry said, his voice strained.

Ron frowned. "What's going on between you two?" he asked, nodding at the doorway.

"Same old usual bickering," Harry replied flatly as he rose to his feet, forcing Hermione and Ron to do the same.

They exchanged a glance, clearly not believing Harry, and Hermione said, "I thought Ron and I were the bickering couple."

Harry snorted, knowing she was trying to lighten the mood, but he was far too angry to bother playing along. "Yeah, well, Ginny and I don't exactly announce the fact that we fight to everyone."

"Are you saying we do?" Ron said, and Hermione hit him in the arm.

"What he meant to say was—"

"Look, I appreciate what you're trying to do, but it's not really helping right now, so I would really appreciate if you both left before things got ugly," Harry interrupted.

They looked at each other, and Ron was the first to concede. He patted Harry on the shoulder. "I don't really know what's going on, but don't give my baby sister too much of a hard time, yeah?"

Harry scoffed, pinching the bride of his nose. When Ron looked like he was waiting for Harry's reply, he nodded and waved his hand. "Yeah, yeah."

They bid him goodnight and stepped into the fireplace, leaving Harry alone with his angry thoughts. Before he could think better of it, he stormed upstairs and into the master bedroom, muttering an angry _Mufliato_ before slamming the door shut.

Ginny flinched from her place by the window, but she still refused to look at him, and Harry made a frustrated sound. "Look, Ginny," he said, his voice harsh. "I know I'm the one in the wrong here and I know I deserve to be hated, but can you not drag Draco into our petty squabbles?"

" _Petty squabbles?"_ Ginny said, her voice high-pitched. "Petty squabbles, he says!" She threw her arms in the air as she finally turned away from the window and looked at him. "Harry, our marriage is falling apart and you're calling it a _petty squabble?"_

"Look," Harry said, trying to keep his voice controlled. He was feeling irrationally angry for some reason, much angrier than he should be, and he didn't know if he was angry at Ginny or himself or Draco, or all three. "Tell me what you want me to do and I'll do it. Just leave Draco out of it, OK?"

"How can I leave him out of it when he's the reason we're having this conversation in the first place?" Ginny screamed. Harry winced, glad he'd put up a Silencing Charm around the room. "You ask me what I want you to do, but we both know you won't do the one thing I really want!"

"You said you were OK with it!" Harry snapped.

"How could I be OK with my husband sleeping with another man, Harry? Are you out of your goddamn mind?!"

Harry nodded, exhaling through gritted teeth as he placed his hands on his hips and closed his eyes. That was a fair point. He understood her anger all too well, especially since he knew the truth behind what had happened between her and Grant.

"Alright," he said, nodding again. "Aright. Well. I'm in love with Draco. He's in love with me. That's not going to change even if we never see each other again."

"How do you know that?" Ginny screeched. She stomped over to him and hit him in the chest. "How the bloody hell do you know that when you won't even _try?"_

"Because I don't _want_ to try, Ginny!" he boomed, feeling slightly guilty when she flinched from the power of his voice. "And don't hit me!"

"If you don't want to do the one thing I want you to do, what's the point in asking me what I want?" she asked, her voice breaking as tears filled her eyes.

Seeing her cry only further irritated him, and a voice in the back of his mind told him that it only showed that he was no longer in love with her. "Don't cry," he said, his irritation clear in his voice, but she only sobbed in response. "Ginny, we can't have a conversation if you're crying."

"Does it _look_ like I want to have a conversation with you, Harry?"

"What _do_ you want, then?" He yelled, throwing his hands in the air. "Do you want us to separate? Is that it? Is that what you want?" he asked in a fit of rage.

She looked at him, aghast, tears and snot streaming down her face, her cheeks red and splotchy, and he couldn't help but think that it wasn't a very pleasant sight. "Is that what you want?" she whispered, and he sighed.

"What I want is for you to be happy. And clearly I can't be the one to make you happy."

"Because you're in love with Malfoy."

"Because I'm in love with _Draco,"_ he agreed. "And I can't ask you to stay in this marriage just because I selfishly want a family and watch you be miserable all the time. I just can't do it. So if separating is what will ease your pain even a little, then—then so be it." What had started off as a confident speech had ended with him sounding heartbroken, and he looked away, feeling his eyes burn.

 _No,_ he thought. _I don't want this. I don't want to lose my family. Please._ But Draco's face came to his mind, and he felt himself falter. Would he really trade his family just to be with Draco? Would Draco do the same? Was that fair to any of them?

He felt Ginny's hand on his arm and he looked at her. She shook her head, a pained expression on her face. "I'm not the only one that's unhappy," she whispered, and he felt a lump form in his throat. "I know how much you love the kids. I know how much you love Rosie and Hugh. And my parents. And all of my family. And I know how much they love you. I could never take that away from you—or them."

A sob escaped his lips before he could stop it and he looked away again, his chest tight, tears finally breaking free and spilling down his cheeks. He took off his glasses and pressed his fingers to his eyes, willing the tears to stop, but he had kept in his frustrations for too long.

"Oh, Harry," Ginny said, her voice gentle and sad. She cradled his head and he buried his face in her shoulder, sobbing.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice breaking. "I'm so sorry. You don't deserve this. The kids don't deserve this. I'm a terrible person. I'm so, so sorry."

Ginny didn't speak. She only held him and stroked his back as he cried and apologised his heart out. Once he had finally calmed down, they sat down on the edge of the bed. Ginny Summoned a cup and whispered _Aguamenti,_ offering him the water. He drank it, watched it re-fill, and drank it again.

She laced her fingers through his and patted his hand with her free hand, leaning her head against his shoulder. He sighed as he placed his head against hers. They just sat there for a long time, each lost in their own thoughts, emotionally exhausted and fragile, and finally Ginny pulled away.

"What if," she began, making him look at her. "What if I fell in love with someone else, too?"

He forced a small smile onto his face. "Matt?"

She shrugged. "Maybe. I dunno. He's a nice guy."

"But?"

She looked at him and smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "But he's not you."

Harry felt the lump return to his throat and he tried to swallow it back. He didn't know what to say. He was so angry and disappointed with himself for doing this to such a wonderful woman. But every time he even started to think that maybe he could give it all up for her sake, Draco's face would appear in his mind and he wouldn't even be able to finish the thought. He was already in too deep. It was already too late to turn away. He couldn't do it. And he could see in Ginny's eyes that she knew and understood that.

"Maybe I can learn to fall in love with him, in time," Ginny said, as though trying to comfort Harry.

"What will you do until then?" he asked, and her smile faltered. He knew she had hoped beyond hope he would tell her not to fall in love with him or something like that, and he was sorry he couldn't, but this was the reality. The sooner she accepted it, the better for her—or so he would like to believe.

"I suppose," she said, her voice trembling, "I suppose I'll deepen my friendship with Astoria, or something."

"Speaking of Astoria," Harry said before he could lose the nerve. "What did—what did she tell you about…" he trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

She looked past him, as though returning to the conversation she had with Astoria. After a long while, she said in an immensely pained voice, "Please don't snog each other in a place where either she or I can see."

Harry felt like somebody had ripped a hole through his chest, plucked his heart out, and then _Crucio-_ d his heart while he lay screaming in a pool of his own blood. Again, he didn't know what to say. He would've apologised, but he knew better than that. He hadn't even thought that Astoria would've walked in on them because both of them were drunk on wine and Draco's memories. He couldn't even begin to imagine how she must have felt, watching her husband kiss another man.

 _Yet, she's always been so nice to me._

He knew that there were never any ulterior motives behind her words whenever they had spoken, and the fact that she was genuinely a nice person made everything even worse.

"She told me the truth," Ginny said, pulling him out of his guilty thoughts.

"The truth about?" he asked, despite not wanting to know.

"The truth about how Draco had never really been in love with her from the beginning."

Harry opened his mouth, but he knew he couldn't defend Draco even if he wanted to because it was the truth. So he just nodded, and Ginny sighed. "I'm glad that I, at least, had that privilege."

"It's hardly a _privilege,_ and I'm the one that should be saying that."

"That's true." She smiled, and it finally reached her eyes. "I don't regret anything," she said, her voice soft. "Any of it. From beginning to end. We went through so much together, and we got through it. Not many people can say that."

" _I_ can't say that," he said with a dry chuckle. "I suppose I have no choice but to live with my regret."

Ginny reached up to brush his hair away and touched his scar. "I think, seeing you now, I'm realising that I've finally accepted the fact that my childhood hero is no more." She dropped her hand, a sad smile on her face, her brown eyes having a resigned look in them. "Maybe if I'd realised that sooner—maybe if I'd accepted it sooner, that you weren't Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, or Harry Potter, The Chosen One but just Harry… maybe things would've been different." He just smiled sadly at her without saying anything, and she nodded as though she understood. "That's why it's him, isn't it? Because to him, you've always been Harry Potter, the man he could never have no matter how much he tried."

He shrugged a shoulder, deciding that her insightful comment may have some meaning to it. "Maybe," he said. "But, more than anything, to him, I'm just Harry."

"Just Harry," she said, her voice choked, and then looked away with a weak laugh as she wiped away her tears. "So stupid."

"I always have been," he murmured, more to himself than her, but she laughed anyway and shook her head.

"So have I." She stood and walked to the other side of the bed, dimming the lights and getting under the covers. He took his time to change and get into bed, and as she turned off the lights completely, he eyed the back of her head as the moon peeked from behind the clouds.

He closed his eyes, and he found himself wishing the crimson halo that the moonlight created around her head had been silver instead.

* * *

 **A/n: I feel like there really is no way to resolve this problem between Ginny and Harry without anyone getting hurt.**

 **In other news, the next big arc has finally begun! Yay! This headcanon is something that I have always, always wanted to write, so I'm super excited that I'm finally writing it.**

 **Do leave a review and let me know what you thought, and I really do apologise for the lateNess!** **Thank you for reading!**

 **Arty xx**


	43. 43 Lies: Change is Difficult

**A/n: I am so stupid I had this saved but forgot to publish it and only today, while I was cross-checking one of the chapters, did I realise.**

 **I apologise profusely and thank you so much for being patient with my sorry ass.**

* * *

 **Chapter 43**

 **Change is Difficult**

* * *

 **[13 December 2011]**

 **11:16 AM**

"What is it?" Harry gasped the moment he stepped out of the Floo. "I got your text. Is everything alright?"

Draco held up his hands, his eyes twinkling and an amused smile on his face. He looked like he hadn't expected Harry to have come bursting in the way he did and that embarrassed Harry a bit. "Everything's fine," he said. "I'm sorry if I worried you. I probably should've phrased myself better in my message."

Harry shook his head and settled down in his armchair, the exhaustion still hanging over him like a dark cloud. "No, it's alright. I've just been a bit… on edge, that's all." When Draco looked concerned, Harry asked, "So, what is it? What did you want to see me so urgently about?"

"It isn't as urgent as it may have seemed," Draco said, walking over to his desk to pick up a file. "I didn't think you'd come right away when I said, 'Meet me as soon as possible'."

"Yeah, well."

Draco placed the file in front of Harry and sat down, his expression growing sombre. Harry felt his heart start to race. What was going on? Why had Draco called him here?

"I've actually been thinking about doing this for a while now, and I wish I didn't have to do it this abruptly and could've prepared you better for it, but I think we've reached a point where I can no longer prolong it anymore." He flipped the file open and pushed it towards Harry. "If you could sign along the dotted lines, please."

Harry picked up the paper and read the short paragraph, muttering, "Termination of contract?" He looked at Draco, eyes wide. "What is this?"

Draco smiled kindly. "Let's just say that the only reason I haven't faced any major consequences from our relationship is that I'm a private practitioner who owns and runs a private organisation and my interactions with you are known only to one other person within Antares."

"What major consequences?" Harry asked, worried. "Is it because of our relationship? Is it because you're more than just my Mind Healer?"

"That's one of the most important rules of our trade, that we're expected to adhere and abide by with no exceptions," Draco said softly. "We are not allowed to establish any relationship beyond Mind Healer and client. That is an absolute prerequisite to work in this field."

"But…" Harry shook his head. "We already had a relationship, to begin with."

Draco nodded. "Camilla and I have had extended discussions and debates over this matter, and one of the reasons I decided to go along with it is because she said that I could consider it to be an experiment of sorts where my role may become situationally interchangeable, something that I'm sure Camilla explained to you before I became your Mind Healer."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, I remember her telling me that this could be mutually beneficial. So if that's the case, what's the problem?"

"Well, to put it simply, I no longer think myself capable of being unbiased when it comes to your personal matters, since now they closely involve me as well," Draco said, his voice gentle but firm. "I agreed to be your Mind Healer because of Camilla's persuasion, for the most part, and reverse transfer, that is, the Mind Healer identifying with the client's problem to such an extent that it invokes strong emotions within them, has always been a risk in this line of work. Despite that, I felt that I was capable of treading the fine line with you since I have dealt with war trauma and similar PTSD cases for years, now."

"And you did," Harry said. "Besides that one time in Malfoy Manor when you allowed me into your memories, you've never seemed overtly affected by whatever I've been going through."

Draco smiled. "Your observation skills are commendable, as always, and you're right. The problem, however, is the fact that we have feelings for each other, which basically goes against a dozen principles and rules of the trade in itself."

"And you didn't terminate our contract earlier because of everything that's been going on with me," Harry muttered, feeling conflicted. His affection for the blond grew with the realisation that Draco was still that considerate towards Harry even when Harry didn't realise it, but it was also unnerving that Draco may have done something that could jeopardise his professional life for Harry.

"I know what you're thinking, and that's not it," Draco said, reaching out to place a hand on Harry's. "To begin with, I should have never agreed to take you on as my client, considering our history, but I did so anyway, which meant certain things were inevitable. These were the consequences of my own active choices, most of which were not greatly affected by anything you said or did. And I'm not just saying this to placate you."

Harry smiled and nodded, although he still felt a little disconcerted. Draco motioned to the form. "If there are no more clarifications, would you mind finalising the termination from your end?"

"Right." Harry picked up the self-inking quill and scrawled his signature beside Draco's, sighing once he was done.

Draco took the form to reveal another one below. "Since this was a special case, we decided to give you the option to renew your contract with your previous Healer."

"With Camilla?" Harry asked, quickly reading through it.

"That's right."

Harry wasn't too sure how he felt about suddenly discussing his private affairs with Camilla, now that he had established that relationship with Draco. He was rather wary about the sudden turn of affairs, despite the fact that he understood why it was necessary for the most part.

"This is just an option, one that you don't have to consider right away," Draco said, as though sensing his hesitation. "To be fair, our sessions haven't been like the conventional ones either, especially since there was so much happening with you all at once, but I thought I should give you the option nonetheless, just as a reassurance that it exists when you need it."

"Yeah, alright," Harry said, placing the form back on the table. "I'll think about it for a little while longer, then."

Draco smiled. "Of course. Take all the time you need."

Harry nodded, suddenly feeling a sense of unease. It was like these counselling sessions, for whatever they were worth, were the lynchpin of their relationship, and without them, Harry felt like he no longer had an excuse to drop by Antares. It was almost like the rug had been pulled from under his feet, and he was lying on the cold, hard floor, unsure of what to do next.

"Something's on your mind," Draco said. He shifted and patted the sofa. Harry rose and settled down beside Draco, relaxing when the blond placed his hand on Harry's shoulder. "What is it?"

"It's nothing," Harry said, but when he saw that Draco wouldn't simply let it go at that, he said, "I dunno. Like you said, this was very sudden. So I guess I'm still processing how things are going to change from now on."

"You realise that now, we can meet outside of here, without being hindered by confidentiality or anything of that sort, right?" Draco asked, his voice still having the same gentle, soothing undertone.

Harry hadn't considered that, and he nodded. "Yeah."

"But?"

"I don't know. Change is difficult, I guess."

"That it is." He reached up to brush Harry's hair from his forehead. "But wouldn't you say this is a welcome change?"

Instead of answering, Harry said, "You like touching my hair, don't you?"

He expected Draco to become conscious about what he was doing and drop his hand, but the blond simply ran his fingers through Harry's hair, humming softly. "I've always been curious what your hair felt like, since, despite how unruly it was back in the day, it still looked very soft."

A pleasant tingle ran through Harry from Draco's ministrations, and he leant forward, drawn to the blond. He nuzzled Draco's nose, a small smile on his face, and kissed him once, softly. "I love you," he murmured, suddenly overcome by the need to say it.

Draco smiled, returning Harry's kiss. "I love you too, but we're both still in the middle of work and the door isn't locked."

Harry chuckled, pecked Draco again, and rose to his feet. "I'm still a little off from the lack of sleep and exhaustion so I better get back to work before I pass out on your sofa again."

"I have just the thing," Draco said, walking over to a cabinet and rummaging around for a moment. He returned with a small packet in his hand and offered it to Harry. "Add just a pinch of this into your tea or coffee and you should be good to go."

"What is it?" Harry asked, examining the small sachet before pocketing it.

"A concentrated mixture of just the necessary elements to rejuvenate a worn body," Draco said, with a somewhat flamboyant gesture. "I wouldn't recommend using too much of it, though, because it'll make you high and all wired up."

"Roger that," Harry said, stepping into the Floo. "Well, I'll see you later then."

"Bye, Harry."

"Bye."

* * *

 **1:10 PM**

He was just winding up in order to break for lunch when somebody knocked on the door. "Come in," he said, setting aside the forms he had been signing. He smiled when Alyssa and Ryan walked in and asked brightly, "What brings the new dynamic duo to my office?"

The two exchanged nervous glances before Alyssa said, "We're so sorry for bothering you, sir—"

"It's no bother." Harry motioned to the chairs across from him. "What can I do for you?"

The duo didn't sit down and glanced at each other again, and Harry had to maintain his pleasant expression, although he was starting to get worried. The last time he had seen them, they had come bearing bad news. If their nervous demeanours were any indication, he was starting to see a trend with these two.

"Weren't you asked to catalogue the dark artefacts with the research team?" Harry asked, figuring that was what they were there about.

"Yessir," they said. Alyssa shot Ryan a look and he cleared his throat. "We, uh, happened to find some discrepancies in the list, sir."

Harry frowned, no longer bothered to hide his concern. "What sort of discrepancies?"

"When we collected the original list made by the team on-site, it didn't match the list made by the research team here, so Ryan and I re-catalogued all of the artefacts ourselves in order to see if they had accidentally missed out any," Alyssa said, handing over three sheets of paper when Harry gestured for them.

"And?" Harry asked, laying out the papers side by side.

"And our list matched that of the team here but not the original one," Ryan said. "We've circled the objects that are unaccounted for."

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, tapping the first paper with red marks on it with his free hand. "How do objects like a _chandelier_ go missing without a trace?"

The two exchanged worried looks. "We—We don't know, sir," Alyssa said, her voice small. "We conducted a thorough search of the lab, the storage unit, as well as the surrounding areas but found nothing."

"Who was in charge of cataloguing them to begin with?" Harry asked as he glanced at the signature at the bottom of the list. "Dr Lina Carnegie. She should have a group of interns working under her, if I'm not mistaken."

"She does, sir," Ryan said. "We worked with them to make the first list."

"Did you question them?"

"Not… directly," Alyssa said, shifting. "We didn't want them knowing some of the artefacts were missing."

Harry nodded. "Smart. What did you find out?"

"They double-checked to make sure all the items were accounted for and their list is an accurate representation of the artefacts they received," Alyssa said. "Which we cross-checked and attested to be true."

"Which means, if they did do it, we don't know how," Ryan said. "We've searched everywhere possible, and unless they have some secret room that we don't know about, we can't think of any way they could've smuggled such large objects out of the Ministry without anybody noticing."

"And since they're closer to our age, we spent quite a bit of the past few days with them, and they don't seem like the sort of people who're capable of pulling off something like this," Alyssa added. "Of course, I could be wrong, since they _are_ extremely smart."

Harry nodded. "Dr Carnegie is known to be a taskmaster and is very strict about who gets chosen to intern under her. They have to be the best of the best."

The duo exchanged another look. "What is it?" Harry asked.

Alyssa made the motion of tucking hair behind her ear, although all of it was gathered into her tight ponytail. "We, uh, we've heard the rumours about Dr Carnegie."

"Which ones?" Harry joked, and the duo laughed awkwardly.

"The ones about how she was sued for over-working her interns and calling them her 'personal slaves'," Ryan said.

Harry nodded. "She won that case, though, because her arguments were put forth more strongly and calmly, in a very relevant manner. Plus, despite everything, anyone can admit she's an invaluable asset to the Ministry—hardly comparable to an overworked intern or two," he said with slight disgust. "What's your point?"

"Right. Well. We were wondering: what if Dr Carnegie was back to her old habits and the interns did something like this to get her in trouble?"

"It's a possibility," Harry said. "But an unlikely one." Harry tapped the list with Dr Carnegie's name on it. "Dr Carnegie is obviously going to be questioned for this, and the interns are the ones that'll suffer her wrath. So why would they do something that would make their own lives miserable and could effectively put an end to their career? I'm sure you know how influential a recommendation letter from her can be."

They nodded and Alyssa said, "But if they didn't do it, who do you think did?"

"We have too little information to reach any sort of conclusion," Harry said, eyeing the objects circled in red. "The better question to ask would be: if one of them did, in fact, steal these artefacts, where did they hide them? Although there are enough places in the Ministry where you could conveniently stash away a few large Dark objects, their size would still have made transportation difficult. The moment anybody's seen pushing around anything large and/or covered with something, they're going to be stopped half a dozen times by security. They would hardly make it to the nearest exit, let alone the front door."

"We did consider the possibility of them shrinking the objects," Ryan said. "But the interns themselves confirmed that the volatile nature of Dark magic and the rather poor choice of objects used made them very easy to trigger. Even the slightest modification could detonate them."

Harry hummed in thought. "What if we're looking at this the wrong way?" he mused, tapping each list with his index finger.

"How do you mean, sir?"

"Let's give Dr Carnegie's team the benefit of the doubt and say that their list is accurate. What does that mean?" He looked up at the two.

They exchanged glances, mutual understanding passing between them. "It would mean that the discrepancy occurred sometime between when the original on-site list was made and the items were moved to the Ministry. In which case, the objects went missing in transit," Ryan said slowly. "Which means—"

"—The Aurors responsible for transporting the items to the Ministry are the ones that need to be questioned," Alyssa finished, her expression aghast.

Harry pursed his lips and nodded. Ryan swore under his breath and Alyssa swayed on her feet, looking like she would pass out. "Who," Ryan asked Alyssa, "Whose team was in charge of transportation?"

"Rogers'," Harry answered with a sigh, rubbing his hands down his face. Rogers had split the Aurors under him into two. Half of his men had assisted Wendy and her team in bringing the Dark artefacts to the Ministry, and Rogers had taken the other half with him in pursuit of the perpetrators.

"There were over half a dozen Aurors and researchers in the truck," Alyssa said. "It was a heavily armoured vehicle. Even if more than one of them were involved in this, they couldn't have taken out every single witch and wizard in the truck as well as gotten the objects out, wiped memories, and then returned to the Ministry in time."

"There's still one thing bothering me, though," Ryan said. "Why did they choose to take such bulky objects? The missing items include a chandelier, a large vase, a mirror, and an engraved wand case. There were smaller items that they could've easily smuggled under their robes, like goblets and such."

"The answer to that is something the professionals can shine more light on," Harry said. "But I'm assuming the larger the object, the more Dark magic it can hold. Or that could be the reasoning behind why they did it, at least."

"That makes sense," Alyssa said. "Still, I don't see how they could've managed to steal them _after_ they were locked in the truck."

"That means it happened some time between the list being made and the objects being moved for transportation," Harry muttered, deep in thought.

"Another thing we would need to consider," Alyssa said, "is the fact that since these objects are rather large and heavy, there could be more than one person involved. But I still don't see how they could've made off with them without anyone noticing."

"By casting a Disillusionment Charm on them," Harry said, the thought suddenly occurring to him. "If the perpetrators are trained Aurors, then this would be easy for them, considering they've encountered similar cases." He clicked the button that summoned Buxley before rising from his seat. "I want you two to make a list of everyone that transported the artefacts and figure out their current whereabouts," he told the duo as he made his way to the door. "And do not speak of this to anyone else. Got it?" He held it open for them, and they hurried out, talking amongst themselves.

Buxley walked past them and shot Harry a questioning look. Harry ushered his deputy inside and gave him a brief run-down of what he had discussed with Alyssa and Ryan. "Bollocks," the man swore, pacing up and down. "As if psycho killers weren't bad enough, now we've to suspect our own?"

"I've been thinking," Harry said, leaning against the door with his hand to his chin, "that something about this whole situation doesn't add up."

"You don't say," Buxley scoffed.

"Think about it," Harry said. "Considering the scale of the attack that day, do you honestly think the person who orchestrated this whole thing would've just let us take away their entire stash of dark artefacts without doing anything about it?" He pushed himself from the wall and started pacing himself. "I mean, they lost the entirety of the force they sent. Wouldn't that be even more a reason to at least try to get their hands on the artefacts?"

Buxley had a thoughtful expression on his face. "I've been brooding over something, too. McCardy said the puppets were being controlled by someone. But the witches and wizards we fought seemed to have their hands full with just dealing with us. In that case, who was controlling the puppets?"

Harry stared at him. "You think… you think there was someone else there that day?"

"We canvassed the location prior to the attack, but we didn't really do a thorough check of every single room in every single building around. We did, however, look for traces of residual magic and found none, meaning whoever it was, either used some means to mask their trail, or—"

"—Was one of us," Harry finished and cursed. "If it's the latter, we have a huge problem on our hands."

Buxley sighed, shaking his head. "As if this case wasn't huge enough already." He looked worn, like an old man who had received more bad news from his family.

"We don't have any proof to back any of our assumptions," Harry said in an attempt to place him.

"We need to retrace the process undertaken from the first list being made until the very latest one," Buxley said, his face taut, the angry wrinkles across his forehead glistening with sweat.

Harry nodded. "I think it's time we had a chat with all the personnel that were in charge of the various operations undertaken since that day."

* * *

 **2:40 PM**

Buxley had insisted Harry get a quick bite before they start the meeting and Harry had tried to argue, but his noisy stomach had won. It also gave Buxley enough time to gather up everyone and brief them on the most recent discussions so they could jump right into things.

"I would like to say that I want no part in this, but I guess that's impossible," Wendy said, looking agitated. "So I guess I'll start, since I'm the one that made the first list." She looked from one wary face to the next. "Me and my team made individual lists that day and then compiled them into one, which we cross-referenced while loading the Dark artefacts into the truck. From the initial list, we lost a few small items during the altercation, one of which I put a tracker on—and I hear from Mr Rogers that the item has been retrieved, since." She looked at Rogers, who nodded. "After that, once all the items were checked and loaded to be moved, I made a final list, which is the one all of you have a copy of." She held up the sheet with the red markings on it. "And I assure you, as will the rest of my team, that _all_ of these objects made it onto the truck. We checked to make sure multiple times."

"I can attest to that," one of the Aurors from Rogers' team, Lionel, who had been in charge of transportation, said. "I assisted Miss Wendy and her team load the truck. Once it was locked, with Miss Wendy's team and a few us inside, it wasn't unlocked until we reached the Ministry."

"Were the items catalogued once again while unloading?" Buxley asked, at which Wendy and Lionel exchanged glances.

"Dr Carnegie's team took over when we reached the Ministry," Wendy said, her expression one of distaste as she glared at the witch in question. "She was adamant that we leave everything to her and her 'minions', and having interacted with her personally on various occasions, I knew better than to argue."

Lina Carnegie scoffed, her pointed nose stuck in the air. "I assure you that this mistake is neither mine, nor my—what did you call them? Ah, yes— _minions'_ faults." Wendy bristled, and Dr Carnegie ignored her to focus her attention on Harry and Buxley. "We took over immediately after the truck was parked. The unloading was done completely by my team, with the Aurors' assistance, of course." She shot Lionel a coy smile, and he flushed. Buxley cleared his throat, and she continued. "All of the items on my list are the ones that were removed from the truck," she said, holding up a second sheet of paper. "And I assure you, none of the items circled in Ms Bridges' list were on the truck when it reached us."

"Did you do a thorough check of the truck after unloading the artefacts?" Buxley asked, to which Dr Carnegie raised an eyebrow, giving him a patronising look.

"Of course we did. You think too little of us, Deputy."

"What he means is," Harry said on Buxley's behalf, seeing him frown, "did you do a _physical_ check of the inside of the truck?"

Dr Carnegie frowned. "I don't think I follow."

"We believe the thief used a Disillusionment Charm to smuggle the Dark objects from right under our noses," Buxley explained. "So unless you physically walked around the inside of the truck to make sure it was empty, you probably wouldn't have seen the objects still there."

"Of course. An Auror made sure to check—" the witch blanched, her eyes widening. "You don't think…?"

"Who was it?" Rogers demanded.

Dr Carnegie shook her head. "I'm not sure—I don't recall asking for his name."

"It was Peter."

All eyes turned to Lionel as he stood with pursed lips and a grim expression on his face. "Peter was the one that not only did the final check, but he was also the one that offered to drive the truck back to Parking. He insisted he go alone and the rest of us help move the objects since there were far too many and took us multiple trips, even with two lifts."

"Peter…?" Harry looked Buxley, unable to place the name with the face.

"Peter Edwards." Harry turned to the door as Alyssa and Ryan entered. Alyssa handed a piece of parchment to Buxley. "Auror Edwards is the only person whose current whereabouts are unaccounted for," she said.

Rogers swore. "He must've taken off when he realised we were onto him."

"Pull up the footage from that evening," Harry said, and Buxley motioned for Ryan to do it. The lad walked around to the back and turned on the research department's latest invention: a combo-tech laptop powered by magic that was connected to small cameras all around the Ministry. They were programmed to update live feed onto the laptops to be accessed by anyone in the Auror department. They were apparently made to imitate Muggle security cameras.

Ryan clicked on the right date, and Harry pointed at a time stamp. "There."

The brunet skipped through the footage until he reached the unloading. He double-clicked on the small video flashing on the screen, and the laptop magically projected a three-dimensional hologram of it. Somebody whistled and Dr Carnegie could be heard muttering words of approval.

Ryan clicked the play button, and the group watched as Edwards hopped out of the truck, had a small discussion with Lionel and another Auror, and made his way to the front. In a few seconds, the truck was driven out of sight.

"Can you bring up the same time stamp from a different camera? One that allows us to see inside the truck," Buxley said.

Ryan nodded, did some quick clicking—which made Harry wonder how he was so well versed in using the device—and pulled up the same footage from a different angle. It didn't give them too clear a view because it was dark and grainy, but it was good enough to see that Edwards never walked all the way to the back of the truck. He just stopped midway, stared at apparently nothing, and called back over his shoulder that everything had been moved.

"He would've had more than enough opportunities to Disillusion them," Lionel said. "Because Dr Carnegie wanted us to move them directly to the lab, we would fill up the lift and move the next set of objects only when the lift returned."

"I didn't want them manhandling volatile artefacts," Dr Carnegie explained. "They'd already been moved around enough before they had been brought to me. Whatever protective barriers were placed around them had already started corroding because they were feeding the Dark Magic."

Harry understood what they were saying, but one thing still didn't make sense to him. He turned to Dr Carnegie and asked, "Why didn't you cross-check Wendy's list?"

The two women exchanged guilty glances. Wendy sighed. "We have no excuse. We've always had petty disagreements since we hold similar positions—"

"Especially about who gets to use the limited research space allocated to us, and when," Dr Carnegie added, sounding bitter.

"—So when I told Lina that we'd already catalogued the items, she simply nodded in acknowledgement. I didn't offer to show her the list I had made, and she didn't ask to see it." Wendy ran a hand down her face. "We apologise. If it weren't for our unnecessary stubbornness—"

"There's no point crying over spilt milk," Harry cut in, holding a hand up. He was irritated by the two witches, sure, but there was nothing he could do about it now. He nodded at the hologram. "We need to figure out a way to find those objects, first and foremost."

"That shouldn't be too difficult," Dr Carnegie said. "I've placed trackers on all of them. They just need to be activated, and they should give out a faint trace of magic: strong enough to be easily detected but weak enough to not trigger an explosion." She smiled at Wendy, who was looking at her with raised-eyebrows. "I always appreciate a good idea when I see one."

Wendy beamed.

Harry nodded. "Alright. Get those trackers working. Rogers, I want you to brief your men about what's happened and get them ready to move out as soon as we have a location."

"Sir, a word, if you please," Rogers said, and they stepped away from the rest. "Sir, Edwards was from my unit."

"Yes, I know that," Harry said.

"No, sir, you don't understand," the man insisted. "I had originally assigned Edwards to come with me to chase after the runaway. But he asked to trade places with one of the men on the transportation team. Since one of them agreed, I didn't think much of it and we moved on, because the clock was ticking." Rogers' eyes were intense, his voice low. "I _sent_ Edwards with the Dark objects."

"You had no idea of knowing one of yours would have a secret agenda of his own," Harry said, clapping the younger Auror on the shoulder. "Don't take it too hard."

"Nevertheless, I would like to be the one that brings him to justice," Rogers said, and he had such a determined look on his face that Harry decided he didn't have time to waste dissuading him.

He nodded. "Alright. Gather up a small team and see if you can track down Edwards. But," Harry said, his voice stern, "do _not_ pursue or engage without further instructions."

Rogers didn't seem too happy about the condition, but nodded and rushed out. Buxley walked over to Harry and jerked his chin towards the door. "You actually let him have his way?"

Harry massaged his forehead, feeling a headache coming on. He sighed. "Yeah, well, you know how he is."

Buxley nodded. "I do. So, you want me to oversee the retrieval of the objects?"

"Please."

"Roger that, boss."

Once Buxley and Lionel were gone, Harry turned to the people left. "How long until you can give me a location?"

"One moment," Dr Carnegie said as she scribbled something down in a small notebook. "Increase the search radius," she instructed Ryan, who complied.

"There," Wendy said, pointing at a barely noticeable blue dot. "Zoom in. You should be able to see the pulse."

As she said it, when Ryan zoomed in, they could see faint blue ripples radiating from what looked like an abandoned underground train station.

"That's where they're keeping the artefacts," Dr Carnegie said. "I'm going to turn off the pulse now because I don't want to risk triggering the Dark Magic."

"We don't want that," Harry agreed. Nodding his thanks, he strode out of the room, calling to Buxley on the way. "They found the artefacts. Get ready to move out."

Buxley made a surprised sound and muttered, "That was quick." He hollered to a group of Aurors who were suiting up. The Auror Office launched into motion, and Harry stood watching from his place leaning against a desk, a sense of unrest nagging at him.

"You look disconcerted."

He glanced sideways to see Dr Carnegie come to stand beside him, hands stuffed in the pockets of her lab coat. "You think this could be a trap?"

Harry grunted, shifting his weight. "Everything has the potential of being a trap," he said matter-of-factly. "That's why we've to always be on-guard."

"Constant vigilance."

He looked at her, eyebrows raised in surprise to hear her quoting Moody. She smiled, her hazel eyes twinkling. "I know what people say about me, Auror Potter. And they aren't wrong. I do things the way I do because I believe discipline is the key to efficiency."

"Never thought I'd find someone that propagated Mad-Eye's philosophies outside of the Auror circle," Harry said.

"Alastor had the right ideas. He just didn't go about them the right way."

"You asked me if I thought it could be a trap," Harry said. "What do you think?"

She hummed, a low, soothing sound that somehow calmed Harry. "I think, if Peter Edwards is as smart as I presume him to be, there's more to meet the eye."

Harry nodded. "It's been ten days since we retrieved the artefacts. Enough time to orchestrate a trap. And he's been laying low since then." Harry paused, watching Aurors as they went about their duties. "I'm guessing he knew it would take us at least a week or more to make sure the objects weren't dangerous, but what I'm curious about is whether he figured out that it would take us a while to find the discrepancies between the lists, and if he did, how he did it."

"Perhaps he saw that I didn't cross-check Wendy's list when the artefacts were brought in. I'm pretty sure everybody there could sense the tension between us. It happens every time the two of us are together in a room." She chuckled, as though she was talking about someone else. "He was probably banking on our strained relationship to work in his favour."

"I wonder," Harry murmured. "Would he really have that much foresight?"

"Well, as a double-crossing Auror who wasn't found out until just now, I'm willing to bet he has very high observation and analysing skills."

Harry sighed. "He must've tampered with the evidence in all other cases that were connected to this society. That's why we've been going around in circles for so long."

The witch nodded. They stood in silence for a while, and Harry glanced sideways at her. Despite her sharp tongue and the aura of superiority that she had about her, he somehow felt like she and he would get along just fine.

"Dr Carnegie," he began, a thought occurring to him.

"Please, call me Lina," she said with a charming smile that would've thrown him off guard if he wasn't used to Draco pulling those on him.

"Lina," Harry said, returning her smile. "You said the magical pulse the trackers you'd put on the Dark objects could trigger an explosion?"

She shrugged a shoulder. "At its current strength? Probably not. But if we were to increase the intensity…" she trailed off.

"How large an explosion would it be?"

Lina raised her eyebrows, following along his train of thought. "Before I answer that, I think I need to clarify the underlying question here: yes, although a larger object could hold more Dark Magic, there are several other factors that determine how much Dark Magic an object can hold, such as the quality of the materials used to make it, the compatibility with said materials and the Dark Magic, the age of the object, its ability to contain the Dark Magic, etc."

"What are you trying to say?"

"What I'm trying to say is that the artefacts we have stored in the lab are far more dangerous than the ones you have half your force chasing after."

Harry blanched, his skin breaking out in gooseflesh. Her expression was serious but her demeanour was so calm that no one would've believed she had just said they were housing several potential bombs that could blow the Ministry up sky high.

"Do you understand the gravitude of what you just told me?" he hissed, conscious to keep his voice low.

"Auror Potter, I assure you that we have every single artefact well-contained," she replied, her voice even.

"But you said you could trigger an explosion from here with the other ones. Can't somebody else do the same for the artefacts we have here?" Harry asked, trying to reign in his panic. His brain was beginning to overload from the sheer number of things he was having to process.

"I highly doubt somebody else has the contraptions we have in order to do so," she said, her expression never changing.

"What if this was their plan the whole time?" Harry said, thinking out loud. "If the Dark artefacts were triggered to explode, how big an explosion would it be?"

Lina looked around, as though calculating the exact size of the blast. She shrugged, almost nonchalantly. "It could easily take down the entire Ministry and everyone inside."

Harry ran both hands down his face, groaning. "I need to consult somebody on this," he said.

* * *

 **3:33 PM**

"Tell me you're joking," Hermione said to Lina, her eyes so wide, they looked like they'd pop out of her bushy head. She then turned to fix those wide eyes on Harry. "Harry, tell me she's joking."

"I assure you I'm not, Mrs Weasley," Lina said, an amused expression on her face. "I hardly think this is a matter to joke about."

"You really do live up to your name, you know that?" Hermione snapped, clearly agitated by Lina's composure.

The other witch only laughed lightly and said, "I take that as a compliment."

"Well, you shouldn't."

"Hermione, please," Harry intervened with a sigh. "Everything Lina told you is what she told me."

"Do you have any idea what this _means?"_ Hermione hissed, practically in Harry's face.

"Yes, I do. I'm the one that had the objects moved here."

Hermione threw her hands in the air and began to pace. "I don't understand how you're being so calm about this. If the higher-ups were to get wind of this…" she trailed off, pausing abruptly, her eyes growing impossibly wide.

"I'm anything but calm," Harry said, his voice controlled. "And having you freak out on me like this isn't helping my case either."

Hermione nodded, closed her eyes, and inhaled deeply. Exhaling, she nodded again and said, "You're right. Although I can't be indifferent about the situation—" she shot Lina a cold glare that had Harry wondering what had happened between the two, "—I can definitely not lose my cool. Or at least I can try."

"That's all I'm asking," Harry said, offering her a reassuring smile.

"Yes, well, we still have to decide what to do," Hermione said, crossing her arms across her chest and biting her thumbnail as she stared at a patch of floor. "We most definitely can't keep those objects in the Ministry."

"Is there any way of destroying them? Or maybe removing the Dark Magic from them?" Harry asked Lina.

"I'm afraid both those things are one and the same," she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "The only way to destroy them is to set off the Dark Magic and blow them up. Of course, our lab isn't reinforced enough to contain an explosion of that intensity, but I'm sure a field somewhere in the countryside should suffice." She tapped her chin, a thoughtful look on her face. "But it would leave quite a large crater. And if remnants of Dark Magic were to seep into the ground, Merlin knows the sort of side-effects that would cause."

"So what're you saying? That there's no safe way to destroy them either?" Hermione snapped.

"What if we split them into smaller groups instead of blowing them all up at once?" Harry asked, resisting the urge to step in-between the two women as they indulged in a staring contest.

Lina was the first to look away, much to Hermione's apparent chagrin—there was no helping her, Harry thought—and said, "That is actually a very good idea, Auror Potter. It would be tedious, but definitely much safer."

He nodded. "Alright. Can you make the necessary arrangements to move them?"

"Of course." Lina smiled. "If that is all, I would like to return to my lab, where I'm sure I'll be of more use." She did a little twirl on her heel and strode out, leaving Hermione grumbling under her breath.

"What's your problem?" he asked, the moment Lina was out of earshot.

"Just a personal grudge," Hermione muttered, sounding bitter. When Harry raised his eyebrows in question, she rolled her eyes and explained. "Do you remember that international young genius Transfiguration competition that took place when were in our fifth year?"

"Er, no?"

She made a face that looked like she was thinking, 'Why did I expect any better?' and said, "Well, it did, and I was chosen from my year to represent the school." She jerked her chin towards the door. "Lina Carnegie was the seventh year chosen." She paused, making a face so sour, Harry grimaced without realising it. "Let's just say she made sure to work me and the other sixth year representative so hard that we were so wrung-dry during the competition that we couldn't complete all of the spells to the best of our abilities. Guess who won the competition."

Harry nodded, finally understanding the source of her resentment. Of course it had to do with losing a competition. "Alright, well, getting back to the problem at hand," he said, bringing her out of her hateful mood. "What do you suggest we do next?"

"First of all," Hermione said, "even if you're right and the aim _was_ to get all the Dark artefacts into the Ministry in order to blow it up," she paled even as she said it, "why would they have waited this long? They could've done it right after the attack, which we were still in the dark about their plans."

"You're right," Harry said, not having thought of that. "Maybe we have something they want?"

"Like what?"

His eyes widened as the dots finally connected. "The prisoners," he said, and Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"I'm sorry?"

"The witches and wizards we caught on the day of the attack! They should've died, but we managed to save them and have been questioning them every since," he said, pulling out his phone and hitting speed dial. "Buxley told me just yesterday that he had almost gotten through to one, and the others were also slowly giving in."

"Who're you calling?" Hermione asked, glancing at the door. "You know we'll be in trouble for using cell phones inside the Ministry."

"It's an emergency," he said, waving her off.

"What is it, boss?" Buxley's voice came on, and Harry walked over to the door to peer outside and make sure no one was around.

"How possible do you think it is that the perpetrators would be willing to blow the entire Ministry up to keep the prisoners from talking?" he asked.

There was a moment of silence on the line as Buxley pondered over the question. "Very possible," he said, his voice grave. "Do you think…?"

"According to Dr Carnegie, they don't possess the sort of mechanism needed to set off the artefacts from afar. So it would have to be done in person," Harry explained, pacing.

Buxley was silent for another moment. "But, boss," he said, sounding like he had thought of something. "If Edwards' job was to ensure the prisoners don't speak, don't you think he would've taken care of them already?"

Harry's mouth fell open and he felt like the ground had opened up beneath him and swallowed him up. He swore at his own stupidity and raced out of the room, his phone crackling and heating up against his ear. "Merlin, Buxley, you're absolutely right! I can't believe I didn't think of it until just now!"

"What'd'you mean?"

"We looked for Edwards everywhere but _inside_ the Ministry," Harry gasped as he raced to the Auror Office. "We thought he would've escaped across town by now and didn't even think that the easiest place for him to hide would be the last place we'd look." He hollered for a group of Aurors to go down to the holding cells and ensure the prisoners' safety and instructed another to brief Rogers on the situation. "I don't know why he didn't finish them off for this long—maybe he was having second thoughts about double crossing us any longer—but this was definitely a convenient distraction to take our attention away from the main targets."

Buxley had probably put the call on speakerphone because Harry could hear the other Aurors muttering in agreement. "What do you want us to do now, boss?" Buxley asked.

"Do what you left to do. Retrieve the objects. We have a plan for them."

"Roger that."

"I'll contact Rogers once we find Edwards," Harry said. "And be careful."

"Yessir."

As soon as he cut the call, Harry Disapparated and arrived just outside the holding cells, nodding to the Aurors waiting outside. They threw open the door, and one hollered for everybody to put their hands up while the other yelled _Expelliarmus_. Harry's eyes immediately fell on the rather large Auror in the centre of the room, two unconscious bodies at his feet and a whimpering witch kneeling before him. His arm was still stretched out but his wand arced across the room to the Auror who had Disarmed him.

"Peter Edwards," Harry said, stepping forward. "You have no way of defending yourself so I recommend you surrender now, while you're still on your feet." Edwards smiled and held his hands up. "Step away from that woman," Harry said, and Edwards did as he was told. "Don't make any sudden moves. We'll be cuffing you now." Harry nodded to one of the Aurors, who pulled out a pair of magically reinforced handcuffs that were designed to drain the wearer's magical reserves and cuffed Edwards.

The Auror shoved Edwards towards the door and Harry stepped aside. He glanced towards the weeping witch who was bent over one of the unconscious wizards and instructed the other Auror to stay behind and ensure they were all right. He turned to follow Edwards and his detainer, who had just stepped outside, when there was a shout.

Harry rushed outside, wand at the ready, only to have Edwards shove the Auror into him. They both staggered, Harry hitting his back against the wall, and Edwards raced down the dingy corridor.

" _Stupefy!"_ Harry shouted, but the spell missed and shattered a lamp. Edwards turned the corner and raced up the stairs just as Harry managed to de-tangle himself from the disoriented Auror and sprint after him.

There was a shout from above and a spark of light as someone cast a spell. Harry reached the landing to see Rogers bending over a Stunned Edwards, his face red with anger.

"Perfect timing," Harry said as several Aurors rushed past him to secure the prisoners. He clapped Rogers on the back. "Good thing you hadn't run off already."

"Your orders were very clear, sir," Rogers said. "I was waiting for the men on patrol to report back to me when we were alerted."

Harry nodded and clapped the man on the shoulder again for good measure. Rogers looked haggard, like he was the one entirely responsible for the situation, and Harry knew better than to offer him shallow words of consolation. He knew what it was like to shoulder a burden as heavy as this, and he knew better than to convince Rogers otherwise. The man was going to have to deal with it on his own.

There was a groan, and the two looked down as Edwards came to. Rogers kicked his boot. "Get up, you piece of shite."

"Easy now," Harry said as Rogers waved his wand. They watched Edwards slowly get to his feet, looking much more wary now than he had when Harry had caught him red-handed.

"What does it feel like to be the one in handcuffs?" Rogers spat, baring his teeth.

"Rogers," Harry warned. The last thing they needed was to anger Edwards. Although he was disarmed, he was still much bigger and heavier than the two of them. And seeing how quickly the stunner had worn off, he was pretty resilient, too.

"What does it feel like to always have someone wipe your arse and clean up your messes after you?" Edwards taunted.

Rogers growled, jerking his wand upwards so it was pressed to the other man's throat.

"Alright, that's enough," Harry said, breaking them apart. "Rogers, you walk ahead. Edwards, either you shut up or I'll shut you up."

Both men glanced at Harry, who simply raised his eyebrows in a way that he knew was intimidating. It was like he was challenging the duo to question his authority, and despite the fact that Edwards had double-crossed them, Harry knew he was still tuned to taking orders from him and would do as he was told.

Rogers huffed but obeyed nonetheless, and Harry gestured for Edwards to follow. He took up the rear, and they marched down the stairs.

"If your plan was to get rid of the prisoners, you should've done it sooner, don't you think?" Harry asked casually as they made their way back to the holding cells. Harry had originally wanted to interrogate Edwards, but he didn't seem to be in a very cooperative mood. "You may have even gotten away with it," he continued. "You'd be halfway across the country by now, had you not waited this long."

Edwards didn't reply, but his shoulders tensed. Harry had known Edwards was somewhat looser when it came to morals and principles, especially considering the sheer number of bribe allegations against him, but he had always thought the man at least had enough pride as an Auror to stand by the law. Turned out he was wrong.

 _Maybe I'm not as good at reading people as I thought I was,_ he thought to himself, remembering his initial misjudgement of Draco.

"Whatever the reason," he began again, speaking loud enough that his voice resounded in the narrow space, "I suppose it's a good thing you took this long to muster up the courage to go through with it." Edwards grunted but didn't respond. Harry licked his bottom lip. "Maybe your boss picked the wrong guy after all. I wonder what he's gonna do when he finds out you messed up _again."_

Although Harry's intention _was_ to rile the man up, he was banking on his quick reflexes to dodge if Edwards attacked him. So when the burly man roared and spun on his heel, Harry hexed him in the stomach and forced him onto his knees. Rogers rushed back, his expression wild. Harry held a hand up to calm the other man down.

"Stand up," Harry said, his voice strong. "I'm sure that hex barely stung you."

Edwards grunted and pushed himself to his feet. Harry motioned for him to keep walking, and they finished the short walk back to the cells. It was a rather small space, since it was only to house perpetrators for a short period of time, until they confessed or were moved, and it was never this full. Rogers pushed Edwards into the only empty cell, and he immediately rammed his shoulder against the mesh, growling. The prisoners in the adjacent cell cowered in the corner.

"We can't keep him here for long," Harry said to Rogers in a low voice. "They clearly fear him, and if they perceive as big enough a threat, they'll clamp up and all Buxley's hard work will be for nothing."

"What do we do with them, then, sir?"

"We can try bargaining with the others," Harry said. "If we offer them protection from Edwards and whoever else is a threat to their lives, they may be more willing to talk."

"We already tried that, sir. They're convinced that nobody can protect them and we should've just left them to die."

"Yeah, well, they look pretty relieved that Edwards didn't kill them right now," Harry said, and they watched a witch fawn over the now conscious wizards in the far cell. Harry turned to Rogers. "Call Buxley and find out their status with the retrieval. And brief him on the situation here."

"Yessir!"

Harry sighed as he shot one last look at Edwards and exited the room, the adrenaline finally wearing off to be replaced by complete and utter exhaustion. All he wanted was to collapse on his bed and pass out, but he knew that was impossible, so he rummaged in his pockets until he found the little sachet that Draco had given him and hoped it would get him through the rest of the day.

* * *

 **A/n: I know this chapter didn't have much Drarry interaction in it, but I love writing Harry in hiw workplace and him dealing with criminals. It just adds a whole new dimension to the canonical character we know and love.**

 **I should hopefully have the next chapter written soon but I'm not gonna make any promises because who know what real life has in store for me orz.**

 **Do leave a review and thank you for reading!**

 **Lots of love,**

 **Arty xx**


	44. 44 Lies: At A Loss

**A/n: So I ended up getting bitten by a mosquito and getting dengue fever and ended up hospitalised and nearly dying, which was fun (not). Anywho, I'd written this differently before, but after my near-death scare (it was horrible you guys mosquitos are pure evil), I re-wrote some bits (which none of you cares about since you don't even know what I'm talking about lol but still). Well, here's to a chapter that I'm kinda sorta happy about maybe.**

 **PSA: Use mosquito repellant. Stay mosquito-bite free. Live long.**

 **Love,**

 **Your alive and kicking Arty xx**

* * *

 **Chapter 44**

 **At a Loss**

* * *

 **[13 December 2011]**

 **5:15 PM**

Harry stood leaning against the wall, arms crossed and eyes fixed on his boss as the man paced across the room. Tuning out the yelling, Harry bit back a sigh and un-focused his gaze, letting himself momentarily sink under the shroud of exhaustion that weighed down on him.

"—Auror Potter!"

He blinked slowly, raising his eyebrows in acknowledgement of whatever it was his boss had just said to him, too tired to muster an adequate verbal response. Hermione nudged him sharply in his side and he winced, shaking himself out of his daze.

"Well?" Byron demanded, hands on his hips and an ugly frown on his face.

"Er," Harry began, glancing sideways at Hermione, who motioned to the file in her hand with Edwards' name on it. "Right," he said, looking back at Byron. "Well, for starters, we're gonna have to strip him of his badge and have him sent down for the usual memory-alteration process."

Byron waved a hand impatiently. "I know how a dishonourable discharge works, Potter. My question was how you're going to handle the press."

"I'll handle that, sir," Hermione piped up. "Harry won't have to say much."

"No, no, that won't work this time around. He got away with it last time, but calling two press conferences in the span of a month? No, not this time."

"I'll do it," Harry said, holding up a hand before Hermione could interrupt. "I'll let the PR team know."

Byron's frown deepened so much that it had practically formed ridges in between his brows. "The only reason you get away with whatever you want is because the Minister's on your side," he spat, his tone menacing. "Don't think for a second that I won't have you kicked off the force for creating this much havoc, if I had it my way."

He spun on his heel and stormed out of the conference room, and Harry could hear him barking orders at his secretary. Hermione shifted beside him, sighing.

"That man is such a handful," she muttered. "Anyway, don't worry about the press conference. I'll talk to PR and we'll make you a script—"

Harry was only half-listening to Hermione to begin with, and as a Patronus burst through the wall and gambolled towards him, he completely tuned her out. Buxley's voice spoke urgently in his ear as the bear cub playfully swatted at Harry's head, and then the Patronus melted away in a puff of blue.

"What's going on?" Hermione asked, following after him as he strode out. He paused outside the DMLE's office and looked at Hermione.

"Go down to Dr Carnegie's office and tell her there's been an emergency. I'll send an Auror down to brief you both on what's happened."

"Emergency? What emergency?" Hermione was asking, but Harry was already spinning on the spot. He Apparated a few feet away from the barricade that had been put up around the corner to the interrogation room and hurried over to the small group of Aurors standing by it.

"Rogers?" Harry asked Buxley, looking around for the younger man.

Buxley jerked his chin towards the barricade. "Trying to talk sense into Edwards and failing."

Harry nodded, placing his hands on his hips. "Who was taken hostage?"

"The woman he was trying to hurt before," Buxley said. "I forget her name."

"No matter. What's the situation with this Dark object?"

Buxley's face paled and his expression was one of distaste. "He's used it to put up some sort of force field around the interrogation room. We're unable to penetrate it, physically or magically."

"Has Wendy been alerted?" Harry asked, peeking around the barricade to see a pulsing, greenish barrier a little away.

"Wendy and Dr Carnegie are both figuring out a way to cancel out the Dark Magic by using the artefacts they have under their possession. The only problem is that Dark Magic is volatile—"

"—and could create an explosion," Harry finished with a sigh, sick of having to hear that same phrase repeated over and over again. He ran a hand down his face. He'd practically emptied the sachet of the powder Draco had given him, yet the exhaustion wouldn't leave him. "Alright, well, if they can give us an estimate of the possible explosion's range, we could try to put up wards and see if we can contain it. From the looks of it, though, it doesn't seem all that dangerous," Harry said, eyeing the non-threatening-looking barrier.

"I'll find that out," Buxley said, turning to talk to another Auror. Harry stifled a yawn and blinked the tears out of his eyes as he waited for two Aurors to open a small space in the barricade for him to slip through.

Making his way towards where Rogers' men stood on either side of the interrogation room's door, he paused as one of them briefed him on the conversation—or argument, rather—that was taking place inside. Edwards was apparently threatening to kill the woman and blow up the Ministry if they didn't let him walk free, with the rest of the prisoners.

"Yeah, like that's happening," Harry muttered, making sure to stay out of Edward's range of vision. Rogers glanced his way once, still trying to strike a deal with Edwards. Edwards slammed his fist on the two-way mirror that separated them, yelling that he knew they were only trying to stall and he would make good of his threat if they didn't clear a path for him in five minutes. Rogers glanced towards Harry again, who shook his head and motioned for Rogers to come out. The man told Edwards he would give him time to reconsider and exited the room.

"Sir, he knows we're stalling and I'm worried he may actually do what he's threatening to," Rogers said, his features taut and his face pale.

Harry glanced towards Edwards, who was now pacing the room, still yelling, probably not knowing Rogers was no longer on the other side of the two-way mirror. The woman he had taken hostage was cowering in the far corner, flinching every time Edwards banged his fist against something or threw his hands in the air.

"He won't," Harry finally said, examining the green barrier. It was making a faint buzzing sound, like electricity was passing through it. "He's trapped himself in there. If we can't get in, he can't get out, either—especially considering he doesn't have a wand on him. Although, he may hurt that witch if we test his patience any longer."

They looked towards the barricade as Buxley made his way towards them. He nodded at them. "Wendy and the doctor have arrived. They said that they can send out a wave of Dark Magic that'll momentarily nullify the effect of Edwards' barrier, but only for about thirty-second intervals at a time, because they don't want to risk triggering the Dark Magic."

Harry looked at Edwards again. "That should be enough time for two of us to Apparate in and get the woman out as well as Stun Edwards for long enough." He turned back to Buxley. "Can this thing be deactivated?"

Buxley and Rogers shared looks. "Er, I'm not too sure, boss," Buxley admitted.

"Get Wendy. We'll need somebody proficient with Dark Magic to at least help isolate the object."

Buxley nodded and hurried off, leaving Harry to turn to Rogers. Before he could say anything, the younger man piped up. "Sir, I don't think it's a good idea to take Miss Wendy along. Edwards is capable enough to turn the tables on us."

"You and I will deal with Edwards and the witch while Wendy takes care of the object," Harry said in an ' _isn't that obvious?_ ' tone of voice, and Rogers frowned slightly. "As long as we can surprise him enough, it shouldn't be too hard," Harry added, shrugging. He knew the other man was just as exhausted and on edge as him—if not more—but Rogers' habit of either over or underestimating things was starting to get on Harry's nerves. And the last thing he needed was to lose his temper on the lad.

He clapped the fellow on the shoulder and asked him to stall Edwards for a few more moments as Wendy jogged up to him.

"Sir," she gasped, her cheeks flushed and her eyes wide. "Are you serious about having me go in there with you?"

"We can't secure both Edwards and the hostage as well as the dark object in the few seconds you've given us," Harry said sharply, holding up a hand apologetically when Wendy looked taken aback at his tone of voice. He sighed. "You just have to Apparate in a few moments after Rogers and I do, collect the object, and Apparate out."

"If I may," Wendy said, her voice strained, pausing for Harry's permission to speak. "You make it sound much easier than it's going to be. I can't just Apparate in an out with the object. Dark Magic doesn't work that way. Once I'm in, it's going to take me a while to figure out if at all there is a way to… _deactivate_ the object. Plus, I'm going to need my team; it's not something I can do on my own."

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, grinding his teeth. "Bloody Dark Magic making everything more complicated than necessary." He sighed and nodded. "Alright. Fine. Do what you have to. Rogers and I will go in and get those two jokers out so you and your team can then take all the time you want to turn off this buzzing menace." He jerked his chin over his shoulder, towards the barrier. "Hopefully not too long," he added, and she nodded her head vigorously and bustled away, lab coat billowing behind her.

"Sir," Rogers rushed up to him, eyes wild. "If we're doing this, we have to do it now. I think he suspects we're up to something."

Harry turned to the Aurors stationed around and ordered them into formation. He grabbed Rogers by the elbow and spoke in a low voice. "I'll take Edwards. You get the woman out." When Rogers began to argue, Harry tightened his grip. "Don't be a hero, Rogers. Just do as you're told."

Rogers set his jaw and nodded, looking none too pleased, but Harry couldn't care less. They only had a few moments to ambush the bloke and take him down. Harry wasn't going to risk the situation by letting Rogers have his way. Nodding towards the other Aurors, Harry stepped away from the younger man, held up a finger and said, "On my command."

They waited, needing the barrier to come down before they could do anything, and the moment the greenish light flickered, Harry yelled, "Now!" He Disapparated first and appeared just behind Edwards. The man jumped back immediately, surprised but not enough, and Harry hit him with three well-aimed Stunners, catching him as he fell and looking over his shoulder to make sure Rogers had got the witch. The other man nodded, and Harry hollered to the Aurors outside.

Two men burst into the room, grabbing Edwards—who was already regaining consciousness—and dragging him out while Harry helped carry the unconscious witch out behind them. The barrier hissed and closed shut just as they got out, singeing the ends of the witch's robes and Harry's elbow.

Even as Aurors took the witch from him and moved her away, there was already yelling as Edwards had regained consciousness and was struggling. He was a big, burly man, and even four Aurors were having a hard time pinning him down. Rogers had moved before Harry had, trying to Stun Edwards once again but unable to due to the other Aurors mixed in the fray.

The bloke kicked one of them in the stomach and elbowed another in the face, and the two were momentarily disoriented. A jolt ran down Harry's spine, and he drew his wand, quickly realising what Edwards was going to do next, but Rogers was in the way, yelling for the man to stay still, and Harry swore under his breath.

"Rogers, look out!" he yelled as Edwards grabbed one of the Aurors' wands and brandished it. Rogers yelped and jumped to the side as a stream of red shot straight at the ceiling. Edwards barked a laugh and rolled onto his feet, swinging the wand and throwing hexes all over the place.

Aurors were already counteracting; two of them Apparated behind Edwards to surprise him, and two more tried to physically tackle and push him to the ground, but the man's sheer size was making him difficult to take down, and the fact that he had a wand made it all the harder to get near him. Harry managed to get another Stunner right under Edwards' arm, and he staggered, allowing Rogers to kick his foot from under him and make him lose his balance.

Somebody Disarmed Edwards, and he lay still momentarily, causing the Aurors nearby to let their guard down for long enough for him to pluck somebody else's wand away from them and hex them off him. Harry swore, cursing the low lighting and the cramped corridor that made it difficult for them to manoeuvre around the big man and try to get spells in at the same time. Despite everything, Edwards was still a trained wizard—one with the highest offensive power in his group—and he was using his training and his large body as well as the situation to his fullest advantage, much to everybody's chagrin.

Edwards roared and shot a spell towards Harry but he ducked, the spark of purple shooting over his head. A woman screamed, and Harry instinctively swivelled around, reacting a little too late to Edwards' Stunner. The spell caught him in the side and slammed him into the wall. He groaned, momentarily disoriented, and watched through a haze as Edwards kept three Aurors at bay. Of the other three, one was badly hurt and lying curled up a little ways away, another had a broken nose and was tending to the fallen Auror, and a third had just been Stunned unconscious by a stray spell.

Rogers and Edwards were yelling at each other at the top of their lungs, and Edwards kept advancing as the three Aurors tried to stand their ground. Harry stumbled to his feet, wincing as sharp pain erupted in the back of his head where he'd slammed into the wall, and glanced over his shoulder to make sure everything else was under control.

To his horror, he saw Wendy sprawled on the floor and the greenish barrier pulsating like crazy, three wizards in lab coats trapped inside the interrogation room. Dr Carnegie was bent over Wendy, fiddling with some sort of contraption while she barked orders to the two trembling interns assisting her. Behind them, Buxley and the other Aurors were busy putting up wards, possibly to contain the Dark Magic if it exploded, and Harry hoped beyond hope that the rest of the Ministry hadn't caught wind of the situation. Widespread panic was the last thing he needed on his hands just then.

Harry's attention was brought back when Edwards let out a pained growl. Somebody had managed to injure him, and he was down on one knee, arms in the air as Rogers brandished both his and the wand Edwards had stolen. Harry shuffled forward, gritting his teeth as dark vignettes formed at the corners of his vision, his head and side burning.

"Cuff him," he barked, watching as Edwards bared his teeth at him.

"You'll all get what's coming to you!" he yelled, his voice hoarse. "Especially you, Harry Potter! Don't think you'll always win just because you lucked out one time!"

There was a sinking feeling in the pit of Harry's stomach, but he didn't have the time to pay it any heed just then. He moved aside as Aurors placed heavy, magically reinforced handcuffs on Edwards and pushed him to his feet.

"Take him down to the holding cells for now," Harry said, looking towards the barrier. "Things aren't looking too good up here as it is."

Edwards threw himself to the side just as they neared where Harry was standing, smashing one of the Aurors into the wall and knocking him out, and Harry swore, raising his hurt wand arm. The spell glanced off of Edwards weakly, and Harry knew he was done for when the man charged towards him, far too exhausted and hurt to get out of the way. Rogers tackled Edwards from behind with a roar, knocking them both to the ground. Edwards elbowed Rogers in the ribs and backhanded him in the face, causing the latter's wand to fall from his hand and skitter across the floor. Before Harry could Summon it, Edwards grabbed it and blasted Rogers off him. Rogers hit the wall beside Harry, and Harry had the sense to put up a shield this time before turning to the groaning wizard by his feet.

Harry helped Rogers up as other Aurors fended off Edwards—who was swaying from side to side. The more magic he expended, the faster he would tire, thanks to the handcuffs, and the Aurors danced around him, taunting him in an attempt to get him to wear himself out.

Knowing he would be more of a hindrance than anything in his weakened state, Harry decided to help move a woozy Rogers out of the line of battle. He had just propped him up with an arm around him when Edwards screamed his name, pointing his wand at them. Whatever spell he shot their way deflected off Harry's shield and shattered the sole lamp lighting that corner of the corridor. Suddenly pitched into near-darkness, everyone wavered momentarily.

Harry took the opportunity to lean Rogers against the wall and get on the defensive, preparing for Edwards. The man didn't attack, however, and as his vision adjusted to the low light, Harry saw that the burly fellow was leaning against the wall, looking exhausted. A few Aurors rushed towards them from the barricade, helping Rogers up and securing Edwards once again. Harry sighed, hoping he would surrender already, allowing one of the Aurors to check his injured arm.

"What's the situation?" Harry asked, nodding towards the barrier. It was now almost translucent and nearly gone, and the three who had been trapped inside had managed to get out. Wendy was nowhere in sight, but Dr Carnegie was hard at work with her interns and two other Aurors.

"I'm not too sure, sir, but I think things are under control," the Auror told him, to which Harry nodded.

"And the Dark object?" he asked as they made their way to the group.

"Right here," Dr Carnegie said, holding up a cooker-like machine that had a glowing object inside it. "Wendy managed to isolate the object before she was hit by that spell, and thankfully it hadn't contained too much Dark Magic to begin with, but it's still taking some time for the remnants to dissipate." She nodded towards the barrier. "There's no threat of an explosion now, however, so that's good news."

Harry groaned, doubling over to place his hands on his knees. "Thank Merlin for that," he said, straightening slowly and cracking his back. "Alright. Well. Since things are under control up here, I'm going to go take care of things down there."

Dr Carnegie made a sympathetic sound and Harry nodded his thanks to her before hobbling back down the corridor. It felt like an inordinately long time before he reached the holding cells, but he finally did, rubbing his sore shoulder that the Auror medic had pinned to his side. An exhausted Buxley and a beat-up Rogers were standing outside and explained that Edwards had knocked himself out and they were waiting for orders from Harry.

"Move him to a containment unit and reinforce it. Assign guards 'round the clock. We can't afford him getting out again. Byron will have my head as it is, when he hears about what happened," Harry said.

"Yessir," the two muttered rather unenthusiastically and entered the room, leaving Harry to lean against the wall and catch his breath. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, picturing Draco's laughing face in his mind to calm himself.

 _I miss him,_ he thought, grimacing as pain erupted in his head when he rested it against the wall. _I want to see him._

"Sir!"

He glanced sideways as an Auror-in-training jogged up to him, and Harry was envious of how fresh-faced and gleaming-eyed he looked. "Sir, Mrs Weasley would like to speak with you."

Harry grunted as he pushed himself off the wall. "Where's she?"

"In your office, sir. Would you like me to escort her down here?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Harry said, cracking his neck and wondering if he had the energy for another Apparition. "Better than walking all the way there," he muttered, motioning for the lad to step away. "Tell Buxley I'll be in my office if he needs me."

He spun on the spot, wincing as his ankle twisted a little more than necessary, and focused on his destination. He stumbled into his office and slammed into the cupboards on the side, grabbing onto the counter to keep himself from falling. His injured arm stung like crazy and he gritted his teeth, growling in pain.

"Harry!" Hermione rushed to his side and steadied him, Summoning a chair for him to sit down on as he felt his legs give away beneath him. The Apparition had successfully sapped what little was left of his strength.

"Water," he muttered, his voice hoarse, and she poured him a tall glass that he gulped down quickly and held out for a re-fill.

Ten minutes, a muffin, and a vial of Pick-Me-Up Potion later, Harry managed to sit upright in his chair and focus on his surroundings without feeling like he would pass out at any moment. Bleary-eyed, he fixed his gaze on a frowning Byron and briefed him on the situation.

"What in Salazar's name are you _doing,_ Auror Potter?" the man barked, to which Harry frowned. He was in no mood to take the fellow's shit.

"I have been requesting we reinforce the holding cells and containment units for over two years, sir," he said, his voice icy. "Because the cells we have now couldn't restrain a toddler high on sweets, let alone a hulking wizard."

"Well, you should've said so sooner!" Byron said, although he glanced towards his assistant, who was furiously flipping through her planner. "How are we to know—"

"That toothpicks can't cage a lion?" Harry snapped, getting to his feet. "With all due respect, sir, I have filed multiple, detailed requests insisting that our cells are inadequate for nearly 30 months, now. I'm sure your assistant can attest to the same."

The witch shrank beneath Harry's withering gaze, but she still managed to produce a lengthy piece of parchment magically folded into her planner and hand it over to Byron. The man huffed, placing his paper-thin spectacles on the edge of his nose as he scanned the parchment—probably for the first time since it was submitted—making sounds of dissatisfaction every now and then.

Harry glanced at Hermione, and she shot him a warning look, but he only scoffed. Hell if he was going to let the DMLE push the blame for the entire event on him.

"I see," Byron said, handing—or tossing, rather—the scroll back to his assistant. "Well, we can stand here and debate the nitty-gritty aspects all day long, but it doesn't change the fact that you had a criminal right under your nose and never noticed."

He stuck his chin in the air, looking as self-important as ever. Harry bristled.

"If I may," Hermione said, and there was something about her tone that made Harry hopeful. She sounded like she usually did before she put someone back in their place. "I think Lyla can inform you better on this, but nevertheless, from what information I have gathered, it seems like you yourself authorised several withdrawals made by Edwards from the DMLE archives over the past few months. Sir," she said, and Harry had to cough into his hand to keep from grinning.

Byron's head snapped to the side, and the witch flipped furiously through her planner again before she pulled out a long series of notes, all stamped with Byron's signature. Her complexion was pasty and her hand was shivering as she held the notes out. She looked like she would be sick, which was a level of nervousness Harry couldn't understand but didn't have the patience to care for, at the moment.

"What is the meaning of this, Oswald?" the older wizard barked, looking none too pleased with his assistant, who looked like she had shat her pants. "Why would I, of all people, authorise a lowly Auror to access documents from the DMLE's archives?"

Lyla squeaked, shaking her head and saying something unintelligible, and Byron turned purple. "Well, I never!" he huffed, puffing his chest out in indignation. "While I get to the bottom of this, I hope you'll clean up your own mess, Auror Potter?"

"That's what I'm here for, sir," Harry said, a little too cheerfully, to which Byron grunted and strode out, his mousy assistant scurrying behind.

"That was fun," Harry said, grinning down at Hermione as he rotated his sore shoulder. She shot him a dirty look before poking his injured arm and walking to his desk. "Ow! What was that for?"

"While I may have said what I did in a moment of spite," Hermione began, crossing her arms, "you do realise the implications of my statement, don't you?"

Harry waved a hand as he flopped down on the sofa and hefted his legs up onto the armrest. "Just get to the point. I hardly have the energy to stay awake, let alone read between the lines."

"Harry!" Hermione said, exasperated, and Harry settled back into the sofa and closed his eyes, snoring loudly to drive his point home. She sighed and walked up to him, pushing his legs as she settled down on the other end of the sofa. "Why would Byron authorise Edwards to get into the archives?"

"Who knows? The man's got a few screws loose."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "That's besides the point," she said, to which Harry scoffed. "The point is that, knowing Byron and his dislike for you and the Aurors, he wouldn't have done it."

"What're you getting at?" Harry asked, his interest finally piqued. Hermione wagged a finger.

"It means Edwards had an accomplice in the DMLE. How else could he have possibly gotten away with all of this right under your nose?"

Harry propped himself up on his forearms, groaning when his body cried out in pain. "Let's say you're right. Who do you think it is?"

"Well, for starters, it's someone who has access to Byron's signature."

Harry frowned, recollecting the nervous demeanour of the petite witch. "... His secretary."

Hermione shrugged, twirling a curl of hair around her finger. "I'm pretty sure it's her."

Harry stared. Hermione pursed her lips. "Yes, yes, I know. Why'd I say what I did if I knew she was the culprit? It's _because_ I knew it was her that I said it. Because now, presuming she was threatened into this, she's going to go and try to clean up any evidence and we can catch her in the act."

"You're awfully confident about this whole thing," Harry said with a frown.

"While you were running around getting beaten up by a thug, I was doing my own homework," Hermione said with a sniff. "I told you; I want to help, now that I'm in the DMLE."

Harry reached over with a grin to grab Hermione by the chin and peck her on the lips because her cheek was too difficult to manoeuvre to. She looked surprised for a moment but it passed just as quickly. Harry eased back into the sofa with a sigh and closed his eyes.

"Go talk to Buxley. He'll be more than happy to help."

"No wonder Byron hates you," Hermione said after a long moment of glaring at him—he could tell she was even if he wasn't looking—and rose to her feet. "You're such a git."

"I love you!" he called as she made her way to the door.

"Oh, sod off, Potter."

Harry grinned to himself. Now for a quick power nap so he could get his wits back about him and have the energy to get through the rest of the day.

* * *

 **9:13 PM**

He stared off into space as the cool glass of the tabletop against his cheek distracted him from the pain in his side. His glasses set aside and his vision hazy, he squinted as he tried to read the clock at the edge of the table, finally pulling it closer when he failed. It was past 9 'o clock, and he was still in his office, waiting on the last bit of paperwork to finish up before he could leave. Most of the employees having gone home for the day, the Ministry was quiet at this time, and it offered him some peace of mind, after the day's havoc.

He had called Ginny two hours prior to inform her that he would be home late due to the fiasco that had happened, and he had been gladdened and relieved when she had responded with worry and concern. He had then chastised himself for expecting her to treat him in any unkindlier a fashion, and was then ridden with guilt because he didn't deserve someone like her in his life after what he had done.

There were two soft knocks on his door and Harry waved a hand lethargically, expecting it to be one of the lads coming in to hand over the remaining documents. "Just leave it there," he mumbled with a sigh as he pushed himself back and stretched.

"I have to say, I'm a tad concerned about how easy it is to enter the Head Auror's Office."

Harry snapped to attention at the familiar, drawling voice, scrambling for his glasses and placing them on his nose in a hurry as the blond wizard walked up to Harry's desk. Draco smiled at him, his grey eyes twinkling in the dull light, as he placed two large coffees on the desk.

"Late night, I see," he said, settling down in the chair opposite Harry and making himself comfortable. He raised his eyebrows, an amused smirk on his face when Harry simply continued to stare at him in confusion.

"How did—What're you—You shouldn't be here," Harry stuttered, adjusting his dishevelled robes and hair to make himself at least look presentable.

"I was here for some legal processes," Draco said, shrugging a shoulder. "I needed some papers to clear out Mother's vaults. You know how strict Gringotts is with that sort of thing."

"The Ministry closes at five," Harry said stupidly, and Draco chuckled.

"Yes, I know. Since I was already here, I thought I would give my testimonial, since I hadn't come around to it yet, what with Mother's funeral and all." He straightened the clock, lining it up with the edge of the desk. "Well, even that's not the entire truth." He looked up at Harry, a somewhat hesitant smile on his face. "Truth be told, I heard chatter of what had happened today and was worried. I didn't want to bother you, though, so I waited this long to show my face."

Harry cleared his throat, feeling mighty pleased but controlling his expression lest it show in the huge grin threatening to break across his face. "You still can't be here," he said, his voice a tad too low in an attempt to sound serious. "You're practically trespassing."

Draco leant forward, and Harry was mesmerised by the table lamp's flame flickering in his silver eyes. "My apologies, sir," he said, his voice just as soft as his silken strands of platinum hair gleaming golden in the lamplight. "May I be so bold as to request that the Head Auror forgive my honest mistake just this once?"

"I'm more curious about what you did this long and how the security didn't find and throw you out," Harry said, but he gave in to his urge to kiss the blond and bent over to press his lips to Draco's. "I'm going to be in serious trouble if someone finds out I let you in here."

"Best I leave, then," Draco said, rising to his feet abruptly. He gestured to the coffees on the table and said snootily, "Enjoy your drink."

Harry laughed, standing up himself and jogging around the table to grab Draco just as he reached the door. Shutting it gently, Harry moved closer to Draco and kissed him again, revelling in the sweet softness that met his lips and the familiar scent of Draco's cologne. Draco sighed against Harry's mouth and raised a hand to hold Harry's injured arm, causing the latter to wince and draw back in pain.

"I'm sorry," Draco said, eyeing the brace on Harry's arm. "I didn't realise you were hurt."

"Just a bit," Harry said, wrapping his other arm around the blond's waist and pulling him close again.

"Wait, wait, you're injured," Draco said, pushing him away gently, his eyes scanning Harry's body for more injuries.

"A few scratches hardly count as injuries," Harry said, impatient. When Draco wouldn't stop with his fussing, Harry sighed. "I missed you," he said, and that effectively rendered Draco motionless. Harry leant forward to nuzzle the blond's nose. "I'm glad I got to see you."

Draco cleared his throat, and Harry could see that the tips of his ears had turned red, even in the dull light. He found Draco to be rather adorable when he was embarrassed, and he knew never to admit that aloud, for both their sakes.

"That doesn't change the fact that you're in pain," Draco said, tapping Harry's brace lightly to prove his point.

Harry withheld a wince and said softly, "Then shouldn't you give me a healing kiss to make it go away?"

Draco watched Harry, wearing an expression so gentle and affectionate that Harry wondered if he knew what sort of face he was making just then. "Something's wrong with you today," the blond murmured, reaching up to caress Harry's scratched-up cheek.

"I told you," Harry said, leaning in for a kiss. _I missed you too much,_ he thought as Draco pressed his lips to Harry's.

Draco was right, though; something _was_ wrong with Harry. He was in a perpetual state of exhaustion, dulling his senses and taking away the filter between his brain and his mouth. He was aware of the embarrassing things he was saying, but he felt no shame in saying them. He'd probably hit himself later for doing something so uncharacteristic, but for now, his wish to see Draco had come true, and he was for too contented to dwell on anything else.

They broke apart, both sighing in contentment, and Draco reached up to run his fingers through Harry's hair. "You've had a long day," he murmured, and Harry took the opportunity to place his head on Draco's shoulder. He nuzzled his face in the crook of the blond's neck, inhaling deeply. He loved Draco's scent. It had this instant calming effect on him—like a natural relaxant.

Draco gently stroked Harry's hair, holding him so gingerly, like he was a fragile ornament about to break. They stood that way for a long moment, the soothing quiet of the Ministry at night and the warm privacy of Harry's office providing them a safe space to simply remain like that, in each other's arms. The only sounds were of their slow breathing and the soft crackling of the fire burning in the hearth. It gave Harry such a deep sense of peace and solitude that he could momentarily forget all his worries and focus simply on the feeling of Draco's gentle fingers running through his hair and the cool silk of his robes against Harry's palms.

After a time, Harry pulled back and stared deep into Draco's slate-grey eyes, feeling a ball of warmth slowly unfurl in the pit of his stomach. Draco's gaze dropped to Harry's mouth, and Harry leant forward to give the blond what he wanted, their lips parting as they met, wet and warm and yearning for more. Draco had an arm around Harry's waist, and he splayed his fingers, pulling Harry against him. Harry tightened his arms around Draco, who tilted his head slightly and opened his mouth, deepening the kiss.

Draco ran his fingers through Harry's hair and tugged at the base of his neck, making Harry groan. He ran his palm up Draco's back and to his collar, moving his thumb to place it under the blond's chin and lock his head in place, deepening the kiss further, and just as things started to get hot and heavy, there were three sharp raps on the door.

They pulled apart in alarm, staring at each other wide-eyed. Harry grabbed the doorknob and made sure whoever was on the other side of the door couldn't turn it, clearing his throat and saying, "Who is it?"

"It's me," Hermione's muffled voice said as she jiggled the knob, preventing Harry from locking it. Harry's heart jumped to his throat as she asked, "Why've you locked the door?"

"One second," Harry said, rubbing his mouth on his shoulder and straightening his hair, grimacing in pain because he was forced to use his injured arm since he was using the other one to stop Hermione from opening the door.

"Harry? Are you alright?"

He glanced over his shoulder towards Draco, who had just thrown Floo powder into the fireplace and was stepping in. With a quick wave, he said, "Antares," and disappeared in a burst of green flames.

 _Good thinking,_ Harry thought to himself as he sighed in relief and stepped back, letting go of the doorknob. Hermione burst into his office, looking around frantically. "What happened? I thought I heard the Floo."

"I fell asleep at my desk and accidentally knocked over some papers," Harry lied, closing the door and following her as she walked to his desk. "Some got into the hearth. I had to do some damage control before the whole place was on fire."

Hermione frowned at the coffees on his desk. "There's two," she said matter-of-factly, looking around as if she expected to see a third person hidden away in the shadows.

"They're both mine." Harry quickly picked one up and chugged down the now lukewarm coffee. Smacking his lips to keep from making a face at the bitter taste, he said, "Got them to keep myself awake, but fell asleep before I could drink them." When Hermione continued to eye him suspiciously, he motioned to his injured arm. "Painkillers."

She didn't look convinced but settled down in the chair anyway. "Well, I have some documents I need you to sign—" she broke off abruptly, looking down at the chair like it had grown a head. "It's warm."

"Where do you need me to sign?" Harry said a little too loudly, grabbing the documents and pretending to be engrossed in them. "Here?"

"Harry, somebody was here."

"Don't be silly, Hermione," Harry said, trying to keep his voice steady. "The door was locked and I was asleep. Who could've possibly come inside?"

"Why's the chair warm like somebody had just been sitting on it, then?" she demanded. There was something disconcerting about the way she was looking at him, like she knew he was lying and was waiting to see if he would own up to it.

"Do you realise how warm it is in here?" Harry said, motioning to the blazing fire. He knew it was far too late to give in and admit the truth, now. "I'm practically sweating."

Hermione looked around again, her gaze lingering on the fireplace before returning to Harry, the unnerving look still in her deep-brown eyes that were like black beads in the dim light. She nodded and picked up the documents. "Alright, fine. Sign here, here, here and here. Oh, and here."

"What're all these for?" he asked, picking up his quill gratefully and dipping it in ink. "That's a lot of papers."

"These are for the press conference. This one is for filing, and this is for my report. And this one is for Edwards' dismissal."

"I told Byron we'd take care of that," Harry said, signing off the last page.

Hermione shrugged. "He's probably trying to make up for the damage done. He also said he'd head the press conference."

"What about that secretary of his? She was taken in for questioning, wasn't she?"

"She broke completely and confessed to having been threatened to get Edwards the documents he wanted." Hermione shook her head with a sigh. "I checked, and they're still missing. We haven't yet figured out what exactly he intends to do with them, since they aren't all that dangerous, but it may have something to do with whom he's working for."

"Well, let me know if you find anything," Harry said. "Also, Hermione," he placed a hand on her shoulder to make her look up at him, "this is still my case. So while I appreciate the help, leave the investigation to my team."

Hermione had an odd expression on her face, like she wanted to defy him, but she simply nodded and rose to her feet. Shuffling the papers and returning them to their folders, she stepped away from the desk and heaved a sigh. "Well, this is it for me, so I'll be heading home soon. What about you?"

"I'll go check in on the others. See if I can send them all home and get an early start tomorrow. They'll probably want to finish it tonight, though, because they're stubborn that way," he said, rubbing the bump on the back of his head.

Hermione muttered something in affirmation and walked to the door. Just as she stepped out, she half-turned, flipping through the files in her hand and drawing Harry's attention towards them. "I just thought I'd tell you: there's some Floo powder spilt on the carpet near the fireplace. You may want to clean that up."

Harry looked up at her, his mouth dry, but her gaze was still fixed on the documents, like she was talking about them and not the fact that she probably knew Draco had been there.

"Also, next time, maybe tell Malfoy not to loiter around in the corridors, lost in thought, this late after the Ministry has been shut. It'd be bad if security spotted him."

Harry felt like the wind had been knocked out of his lungs, and he clenched his fists, unable to say anything in response. She didn't seem like she was waiting for him to, however, because she cast one final look at his dishevelled hair, her face an expressionless mask, turned on her heel, and left Harry all alone in the dark Auror Office, feeling like he had committed a worse crime than Edwards.

When he finally unclenched his fists, the pain in his arm was unbearable, and he decided grimly that it was his punishment as an Auror walked up to him with the last of the paperwork in hand.

* * *

 **A/n: Well, Hermione was bound to figure it out. She was far too suspicious as it was. The next chapter should be interesting, so that's something to look forward to :D**

 **Let me know what you thought about this chapter!**

 **Thank you for reading!**


	45. 45 Lies: Families and Finality

**A/n: PLEASE READ THE AUTHOR'S NOTE AT THE BOTTOM THERE IS SOMETHING VERY IMPORTANT MENTIONED.**

 **14th December is my dad's birthday, coincidentally.**

 **This chapter is what, I'm hoping, all of you have been waiting for. Sorry for the long wait. I hope this does my wonderful readers justice.**

* * *

 **Chapter 45**

 **Family and Finality**

* * *

 **[14 December 2011]**

 **10:15 AM**

"We need to talk."

Harry started as Hermione burst into his office and slammed the door shut behind her. He watched her wide-eyed, his quill still hovering over the ink pot, as she flounced over to his desk and slammed a set of files down on it.

"What is going _on_ with you?" Harry asked, aghast. She was so furious, her nostrils were flaring and her cheeks were flushed.

She tapped the files she had just put down as she flopped down in the seat opposite Harry. "These need your signature immediately. The press is breathing down our throats and PR is being incompetent as always."

"Yeah, OK, I'll sign them," Harry said, still wary. He took the files and signed everywhere Hermione had marked tiny Xs.

"That's not why I'm here, though," she finally said, sounding conflicted. Harry nodded as he finished signing the documents and handed the files back.

He leant back in his seat and intertwined his fingers, placing them on the desk in front of him. "I was expecting you sooner than later."

"Then you know why I'm here," Hermione said, adjusting her skirt and tucking a flyaway strand of her curly hair behind her ear.

"I do." Harry didn't say anything else and just waited, knowing he had to give Hermione her time and space to categorise her thoughts and put them forth in a calm and collected manner. He had done a lot of introspection himself last night, and he had decided that whatever it was Draco and he were doing, it wasn't just wrong, it was also dangerous. They seemed to lose track of their surroundings when it was just the two of them, leading to situations like the previous night, when Hermione nearly walked in on them snogging.

"I need you to be honest with me," Hermione began, sounding tense, and Harry nodded with a small smile.

"I promise to answer you as honestly as possible."

That seemed to placate her, because she relaxed her shoulders and sat more comfortably, a small but confident smile gracing her tired features—which was quickly replaced by a more sombre expression. "Alright. Well. For starters, why did you lie about Malfoy being here last night?"

He could tell she was dying to bombard him with questions but was restraining herself from overwhelming him, and he was grateful for her consideration. "I'm sorry about that," he said, genuinely apologetic. "I guess I panicked." He cracked his shoulder because it was hurting him from signing parchments all morning. "This is something I'm pretty ashamed of admitting, but Ginny and I seem to have gotten caught in this vicious circle of lies recently, and it seems to have turned into force of habit before I even realised it."

Hermione nodded, looking satisfied with his apology and answer. She looked past Harry and out the fake window—he had changed the view that morning to show a wide meadow, because a sense of forced peace and solitude was what he needed most just then—humming in thought. Harry shifted, uncomfortable with the silence, knowing what sort of question she was going to spring on him next and preparing himself to answer it.

"What was Malfoy doing, visiting you that late, when he knew the Ministry was closed and you were busy?"

"First of all, please call him Draco," Harry pleaded, finding himself wincing every time Hermione said _Malfoy_ in a distasteful tone _._ "And he had come to the Ministry to get some legal papers attested to clear out his mother's vaults in Gringotts."

"The Ministry closes at five," Hermione said in much the same way Harry had told Draco the previous evening.

"Yes, I know. Apparently he gave his testimonial for the case, and when he heard about what had happened, he wanted to make sure I was alright."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, crossing her legs and arms. "He waited until half past nine to check in on you without prior notice?"

Harry sighed, knowing nothing he said was going to make him look any better in her eyes. "Well, I don't really know why he came that late. He said he didn't want to bother me. I haven't really had a chance to talk to him about it, yet."

"I see." She tapped her fingers against her arm, one after the other in quick succession, so it made a soft, rhythmic sound against her crisply ironed blouse. "And what exactly _is_ your relationship with him, Harry?"

 _The million-galleon question,_ Harry thought, leaning forward to place his elbows on the table and his palms together, and pressed the sides of his fingers against his mouth. He sighed, wondering what to say and decided to just go with the truth. "I don't know," he said, resigned, and Hermione scoffed, looking away. "I swear; I'm not lying."

She turned to fix him with a look of such disdain that Harry had to swallow down the lump that had formed in his throat. "Well, you're not _just friends,_ are you?" she demanded. "No _friend_ would drop in to check on you at such a time."

"No," Harry admitted, wiping his palms on his pants because they had gotten all sweaty. "We're not."

"I don't even know where to begin," Hermione said, her voice trembling, the corners of her eyes crinkling like it did whenever she was trying to hold back her tears. "Does Ginny know?"

"She does."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said, her voice breaking. She hung her head, shaking it slowly from side to side. Sniffing, she looked up at him with tear-filled eyes. "I never in my life would've thought you capable of doing something like this."

Harry swallowed thickly, feeling his own eyes burn. He couldn't stand the disappointment in Hermione's eyes. Of all the people he was close to, Hermione's approval meant the most to him, and having her look at him with such pain in her eyes broke his heart.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, not knowing what else to say. "I'm so sorry, 'Mione."

He reached forward to take her hand, but she pulled away, still shaking her head. He inhaled a shuddering breath through his mouth, his heart sinking. "'Mione…"

"How could you do this to Ginny?" she said, crying now. "To the kids?"

"Hermione, I know that what I'm doing is wrong," he said, running his hands down his face. "Believe me, I know more than anyone else—"

"But you won't stop, will you?"

He shook his head, unable to respond, the words frozen on his tongue as he stuttered, trying to speak. Hermione laughed, a harsh, bitter sound, as she looked away and wiped her tears. After a long, painful moment, she looked back at him and asked, "What did he say or do, after all these years, that has you jeopardising your entire marriage and your family without a second thought?"

"It's not without a second thought," Harry insisted, but she didn't look like she cared. He breathed in deeply and held his breath for a few moments before exhaling through his mouth. Closing his eyes, he sighed, knowing he had no choice but to confess to everything. "He saved me, Hermione," he said, and his voice broke. "He saved me," he whispered, pressing his lips together to hold in the sob that threatened to spill out.

"From whom or what?" Hermione asked, her voice harsh and full of anger.

"From myself," Harry said, swallowing. "From a past that has always haunted me and nightmares that had turned me into an insomniac."

"That's what Mind Healers do," Hermione snapped. Shifting her weight to the side so her elbow was resting on the armrest, she placed her hand to her temple and sighed. "How did you even—are you in—" she broke off, unable to even say the words out loud.

"I am," Harry said, and, despite the situation, he couldn't deny how good it felt to finally admit it to someone other than Ginny. "I'm in love with him, Hermione. Desperately, crazily, painfully in love with him."

Hermione laughed out loud, probably in an attempt to physically block the words, but it didn't matter. Harry had said what he had wanted to say for so long, not having realised how much he had wanted to say it. She looked around, shifted her position on the chair, fiddled with the ends of the files, moved the clock across the table—but despite all the mindless distractions, he could see that she was processing the truth.

"So what now?" she asked, sounding exhausted. "Will you and Ginny separate?"

Harry scratched his ear. "We've been discussing it but haven't really decided yet."

"You've been discussing it," Hermione muttered. She undid her bun and let her wild curls flow down her narrow shoulders, like a dam had burst and her thoughts and feelings were finally flowing freely. "And what of the kids?"

"I would never do anything to hurt the kids," Harry said, almost desperately. "You know that."

"I don't know what I know anymore," Hermione said, her voice flat and monotonous. She looked up to meet his eyes. "Who _are_ you, Harry?"

He attempted to smile. "I'm Harry. Just Harry."

His mind went back to a similar conversation with Draco, and he realised that that was all he was, to the blond. Almost as though reading his mind, Hermione said, "And he sees that, doesn't he? He sees you for who you are."

Harry licked his lips. "He sees me for who I am now, who I used to be, and who I could be. He sees me for me, without having any expectations or prejudices or biased opinions."

Hermione continued to stare at him like she was trying to perform Legilimency on him. It would've probably been easier if she did, but he kept that thought to himself.

"And Ginny doesn't?" Harry had expected that. "And what about me?" Hermione continued. "Or Ron? What Harry do _we_ see?"

"I don't know, 'Mione," Harry admitted. "We've gone through too much together for me to be able to answer that question."

"What're you saying?" Hermione asked, her voice crisp. "That we're part of the problem?"

Harry shrugged. "Maybe you are. Maybe that's why you haven't been able to help me in the ways you wanted to. Maybe that's why _none_ of us can, for each other."

Hermione huffed, waving a hand like she was dismissing him. He watched her for a long moment, his mind overflowing with thoughts, wishing he could just empty them directly into her head.

"He regrets it greatly," Harry said after a time, recounting when he had performed Legilimency on Draco. "Everything." When Hermione only looked away without a word, he took it as a sign to continue. "They changed the living room's wallpapers. He always keeps the curtains drawn. There're no signs of anything similar to that day. It looks like an entirely different room."

"Probably couldn't live with himself," she muttered, still looking away, her chin resting in her hand.

"He still can't," Harry replied, silently beseeching Hermione to try and understand that Draco wasn't the villain in this story—that he was also a victim of circumstance, just like the rest of them.

"He facilitated a lot of terrible acts and people, even if he never did them himself," Hermione said, finally looking at Harry. It wasn't an accusation; it was just a statement.

"He tried to take his own life, to repent for what he did."

Hermione's eyes widened at that and she sat back slowly. She crossed one arm across her chest and placed the fingers of her other hand to her lips, looking like the personification of shock. "I'm sure he went through a lot," she finally said, resolute. "But so did all of us, Harry. We _all_ went through it, and that's why we all have each other's backs. That's why we're _family."_

"You're right," Harry said. _But who did Draco have?_ He thought. _Who was his family?_

"He has a wife and son," Hermione said, as though reading Harry's mind, her eyes blazing once again with the momentarily forgotten anger. "He has his own family. Is he willing to risk it all for you?"

Harry shook his head. He wasn't sure. He wasn't sure of anything anymore.

"Then what do you plan on doing? Neither of you want to let go of the family that you have now, nor do you want to let go of each other. How can you be so selfish? You can't have everything, Harry, that's not how it works!"

"Can't have everything." He scoffed, shaking his head. "I practically had _nothing—"_

"But now you do!" Hermione was all but yelling, her palms placed on the desk and her eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears. Harry picked up his wand to put up a Silencing Charm around the room, lest somebody rushes in on hearing her shouting. "Harry, please," she beseeched, "you need to reconsider. You can't possibly have both; you _have_ to let go of something."

"Why do I have to?" he demanded. "Why do I always have to sacrifice something for something else? Why can't I have _both?"_

"Because that's just how the world is!" Hermione exclaimed. "The world is an unfair, cruel place, and we have no choice but to make do. The utopia you seek doesn't exist, Harry, it's about time you see that!"

Harry nodded, feeling his own anger finally rise to the surface. "Well, I don't _want_ to give anything up, OK? I want to have both, and I'm going to try my damnedest to have it."

"Then you're just going to hurt a whole lot of people and yourself in the process," Hermione said, her voice growing quieter and her shoulders slumping. "Even more than you already have."

Harry shrugged. "The world is an unfair, cruel place, and we have no choice but to make do."

Hermione was shaking her head, as though denying the situation would make it go away. "You can't do this, Harry. It's just not right."

"You think I don't know that already?" he snapped, slamming his hand on the desk and wincing when pain shot through his injured arm. "You think I don't die from guilt every single moment I think about what I'm putting Ginny and the kids through?"

"Then _why_ are you doing it?"

"Because _I love him, goddamnit!"_

"And you think he's worth all this pain and suffering?" Hermione asked, a sense of finality in her tone, like his answer to that could effectively make or break their friendship.

Harry nodded. "More than anything has ever been."

"I envy you," Hermione said after a long moment of silence. "I envy you for being able to fall in love all over again and fight for that love so strongly." She rose to her feet and picked up the files. "And I pity you." She cast him a small, sad smile. "I pity you, Harry, because this love you're clinging onto is destroying everything you have spent your entire life building. It's going to destroy _you."_

"I hope it does," Harry said, his mouth dry. "I really hope it does."

"Then I have nothing more to say to you," Hermione said, bowing her head in defeat.

As she made to leave, Harry rose to his feet. "Hermione—"

"I will always be your best friend, Harry," she said, her voice sounding farther away than the door. "But I won't condone what you're doing. I can't. So if you're expecting me to accept this relationship of yours, whatever it is," she turned the doorknob, "don't."

* * *

 **6:20 PM**

It had been a long, arduous day, and the last thing Harry needed just then was to do what he was about to do, but he knew it had to be done. After Hermione had left, he'd gone through the day like a zombie, speaking only when spoken to and never leaving his office, even for lunch. He had thus managed to finish all the pending work, and still rolling with that sense of completion was what had brought him home that night. After his _chat_ with Hermione, he had gone over everything she had said several times and regretted some of the things he said. He knew she was right. He knew he couldn't have everything and not hurt anybody or himself at the same time. He knew he and Ginny had to reach a decision. He knew, which was why he was standing in front of her despite dreading what was about to transpire.

"What is it?" Ginny asked tiredly, and Harry noticed the prominent dark circles under her eyes for the first time.

"I told Hermione," he said because he couldn't think of any other way to begin the conversation.

She nodded, sitting down with a sigh. "I know. She called me and cried on the phone while telling me how sorry she was."

Harry sighed, hanging his head. "She said quite a few things, most of which I could neither deny nor argue against, and I decided that it was high time we decide what we're gong to do."

"I've been thinking about it, too," she said, her voice low and tired. "I originally said I was OK with staying together when I was under the assumption that this was just a phase—a momentary lapse in common sense—that you were just seeking something new and exciting or some way to distract yourself from the problems between us…" she shrugged weakly. "But now, considering you told Hermione, I see that I was wrong and that you aren't going to come back to me even if I wait here all my life."

"Ginny…"

"The Christmas holidays are almost here," she said, rising to her feet. "I've decided to pull the kids out of school early and go stay with Bill and Fleur for a while. They're going to France this Christmas because Fleur's mum is ill, and she's insisted that we go along too because Gabrielle hasn't met Lily or Al." She finally looked Harry in the eye, and he was almost taken aback by the strength in them. "Let's think of this as a break from each other so we can come to our own decisions."

"Ginny—"

"I know what you're going to say, and I don't want to hear it," she said, her voice breaking. She sniffed.

Harry stifled a sigh of exhaustion. "Ginny, please."

"I've been doing a lot of thinking," she said, starting to pace and chewing on her thumbnail. "I've thought about all sorts of things, and one that struck me the most was whether I stayed with you this long out of love, or out of guilt and a sense of responsibility."

Harry shifted his weight, eyeing the bed with yearning. Looking back at Ginny, he asked, "What do you mean?"

She shrugged. "I still feel a sense of guilt that I caused this because of what happened with Grant—" she said his name with such bitterness that Harry felt sorry for her, "—and that I only stayed on in order to redeem myself."

"I don't think that's entirely true."

"Maybe not _entirely,_ but possibly a large part of it." She sat down on the bed with a sigh. Running her hand along the bed sheet absently, she continued. "If you think about how I've been acting recently, trying so hard to undo what I did and pretend like it never happened, I may have just been struggling with that bitter reality for so long that, at some point, I did things more out of necessity than love."

"You love the kids, Ginny," Harry said, knowing she was going down a dangerous path. "You couldn't have possibly done all you've done for them just out of a sense of responsibility."

She shook her head. "Yeah, I love the kids, just as much as you do, if not more." She looked up at him, her expression resigned and tired. "And doesn't that make you realise that, to us, 'family' may no longer include each other but just the children?" she motioned between them. " _Family_ is my parents and siblings and their families, and you're part of it as well, but doesn't that mean we only became each other's family because we've been together for so long and not because we actively chose it?"

"Ginny," Harry said, mild panic rising from within. "Please. Don't talk as though we never loved each other or were forced into this marriage. We _chose_ it. We chose each other."

She nodded slowly, her eyes glassy. "And that choice changed a long time ago. Our idea of a family changed when the kids were born. Our entire existence revolves around them. We would die in a heartbeat for them." She paused, and Harry agreed with what she was saying without a doubt. He would lay down his life for his children without a second thought. He loved and treasured them more than anything else in the world. "James, Albus and Lily are the reason we've been together for all these years," she continued. "We may have had some sense of attachment for each other, but when has our relationship ever gone past habit and routine in recent years? It's not a bad thing, but the fact that we've admitted we fell out of love a while ago shows that we've only been together because of the kids. They're what has kept our marriage together. They're why we've tried so hard to make things work recently. _They_ are our family, Harry, not you and me."

Harry considered this for a long moment, realising the truth in it. The kids were his life. And he could admit that the main reason he didn't want to get a divorce was because of them. Because he didn't want them to grow up in a broken home.

 _You should've thought about that before you said and did all that you did with Draco,_ his conscience chastised.

He sighed and nodded. "I can't deny what you said. Maybe you're right. Maybe, since the kids were born, our idea of a family changed to them instead of you and me."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah?"

She watched him for a moment before saying softly, "Do you consider Mal—Draco to be a part of your family?"

Harry scratched his chin, thinking on it. The immediate answer that came to him was _yes, yes I do,_ but he didn't want to be so candid about it right after his admission. "I do, but that doesn't mean I don't think of you as family either."

Ginny rose to her feet and straightened her skirt. "What do you mean when you say that?"

"I mean, you're still very much an important person in my life and I care dearly for you."

"But you not as you would a spouse or a partner for life."

Harry opened his mouth but didn't know what to say.

Ginny's smile was sad but knowing. "Because now, Draco occupies that position."

"Ginny…" Harry whispered.

She chuckled, bowing her head, but he still saw the tear falling down her cheek. "Well, I suppose it's still going to hurt no matter how many times I say it. I suppose I'm just resentful of the fact that someone took what's mine. I can be quite possessive, you know."

"I'm sorry," was all Harry could say.

She nodded, wiping away her tears. "I know." She looked up at him with a small smile, tucking her hair behind her ear. "As am I."

They watched each other for a long moment before Harry cleared his throat, feeling uncomfortable. "So… we're going to separate, then?"

"I don't see any other way, Harry. I neither want to tie you down from pursuing happiness nor do I see the point of me suffering in an unhappy marriage."

"But the kids…"

"The kids will understand." She hardly looked or sounded as confident as her words were. "They'll understand that while we love them with all our hearts, we just… don't love each other in the same way anymore."

Harry swallowed thickly, his childhood dream slowly shattering before his very eyes, and with it, the realisation dawned that maybe it was because his idea of 'family' had changed, over the years. Now, he had to figure out what exactly _family_ meant to him, who was a part of it, and what roles they played. He realised with a start that the redirection in the course of his dream had been ongoing for several years; it was only just now that he was finally realising it.

Ginny walked up to him and reached up to squeeze his arm gently, pulling him out of his thoughts. "A broken home doesn't necessarily have to be literal," she said. "Sometimes, living together unhappily can be worse."

That made him think back to when he was with the Dursleys, and he recognised the truth in her words. She was right. He had been happier away from his supposed family. Maybe it was similar with him and Ginny. Maybe they could give the kids a happier life while apart than together.

"I think… I think you're right."

Ginny's smile was genuine and finally lit up her dark eyes. "Damn right I am."

He placed his hand on hers and returned her smile. "We'll figure it out. We'll make it work. We're still a team, even if it's not the same team as before."

"Absolutely."

He hesitated for a moment before asking, "Are you still taking them to France for Christmas?"

"Yes, I am."

 _Can I come visit?_ He wanted to ask. And, as though reading his mind, she said, "Why don't you join us for a few days on Christmas?"

"I will," he said without deliberation. "Thank you."

Ginny nodded and stepped back, and the sense of awkwardness between them returned. "You look exhausted," she said quickly, much to his relief. "Why don't you go to bed? I'll go let Fleur know that you'll be coming to visit."

"Yeah," Harry said, not wasting any time in undressing and flopping down on the bed. He sighed at the feel of the cool sheets against his skin, and after such an exhausting day and so much emotional turmoil, the decision that was made gave him such a deep sense of relief that he fell asleep before he could deliberate on anything else.

* * *

 **[17 December 2011]**

 **2:15 PM**

"I think that's everything," Harry said as he stowed the last of the baggage in the minivan's boot.

"Alright, kids! Are you excited?" Ginny asked enthusiastically, and the children cheered.

"We're going to France, we're going to France!" Albus said, holding Lily's hands and hopping around in a circle.

"My friends are _so_ jealous!" James said, a smug smile on his face. "Andrew said his family only goes on vacation in summer and couldn't believe we're going _twice_ in a year."

"Scorpius was sad I wasn't going to be here for Christmas," Albus said, suddenly losing his enthusiasm. "He said he'll ask Mr Malfoy to send my present to France." He looked up at Harry with shining emerald eyes much like his own. "Will you give him my present, Daddy? Please?"

"Absolutely," Harry said, ruffling the boy's hair.

"And you have to give Teddy my gift too, OK?" James said. "You _have_ to, OK? And tell him to write me as soon as he opens it!"

"See Teddy?" Lily asked, patting Ginny on her cheek as she picked the little girl up. "Teddy coming?"

Albus gasped at what his sister said, apparent realisation dawning on him. "We won't see Teddy?" he screeched in alarm, and James whacked him on the back.

"Don't scream like a girl!" he yelled before looking between his parents. "Of course we'll see Teddy. Won't we? _Won't we?"_

"Er," Harry said, eyeing Ginny. What with everything that had happened, he had all but forgotten about Teddy returning from Hogwarts in a week for the holidays.

"Of course you will," Ginny told the kids. "We'll be back before New Years. That's why we're going early, see?"

"Ohhh," Albus and James chorused, after which Lily went, "Ohhh," nodding as though she understood perfectly.

Harry smiled as he took his daughter from his wife and kissed her on the cheek. He pulled her pink beanie down over her ears and the hood of her pink coat over it. "Don't forget to wear your gloves, OK?" he told her, and she stuck her hands in her pockets to pull out two little white gloves with bows on them. He watched her struggle to put them on, and before he could help, Ginny came over and put them on for her.

"There we go," she said with a smile as Lily giggled and pressed her hands against Harry's cheeks.

"Warm Daddy!" she said, squishing his cheeks and giggling some more. He laughed, a lump forming in his throat at the thought of being away from his precious baby girl, even for just a week.

"Daddy hurt?" Lily asked, moving her hands away, as though some how knowing of his heartache. She hugged him and sang _Pain, Pain Go Away_ while he stroked her back and held onto her like it was the last time.

When Albus tugged on his pants, he squatted down and pinched his cheek with a smile. "What's wrong, buddy?"

"Ickle Allie's gonna cryyyy," James sang while hanging from the car's window, promptly earning a smack on the head from his mum.

"You're coming for Christmas, aren't you?" he asked, his lower lip sticking out and his big eyes full of tears.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Harry promised, pulling Albus into a hug with his free arm. Lily reached over to pat her brother on the head, and Albus kissed her hand with a sweet smile. Harry's heart was full.

He looked up and held out his hand to James, who was watching with a somewhat conflicted expression, and he broke into a grin as he ran over and tackled them to the ground. They all laughed and squealed as Harry enveloped them in a bear hug and squished them.

"Oh, look! It's snowing!" Ginny exclaimed, and they all looked around as snowflakes settled down on them.

Lily giggled and swatted at James' hair, and Albus went cross-eyed as a snowflake landed on his nose. Harry watched his children with an aching heart, full of bittersweet and poignant emotions, and vowed to himself that he would do everything in his power to give them the happiest childhood he could.

Soon, the kids were packed into the minivan and Fleur was hugging Harry goodbye with the promise of seeing him in a week's time. Bill clapped him on the shoulder and climbed into the driver's seat, followed by Fleur, leaving Harry and Ginny alone.

Ginny held her hand out, and Harry wasn't sure if she was waiting for a snowflake to land on it or was asking for a handshake. So, he caught a hold of it and pulled her into a hug, holding her for a moment, feeling the finality of it all. She squeezed him before pulling away, a small smile on her flushed face.

"Take care of yourself," she said. "Don't eat out all the time. I've cooked you some food and put it in the fridge. At least come home for dinner and sleep in the bed. Don't just crash on the sofa in your office."

"I'll be fine," Harry said, chuckling. "I've managed just fine in the past."

"Then I'm sure you'll manage just fine in the future," she said, so softly that he almost didn't hear it over the sound of the wind. "Well," she said, stepping away. "I don't want to keep them waiting. Jamie's already banging on the glass."

Harry nodded. "Have a safe trip. Call me once you reach."

"I will." She took a few more steps backwards and then raised her hand again. This time, he knew exactly what she meant by it. "Goodbye, Harry."

"Goodbye, Ginny," he said, holding up his own hand in farewell.

He stood watching as the minivan drove down the road, and continued staring at nothing once it was out of sight. Stuffing his freezing hands in his pockets, he sighed. His life had officially changed, whether he had wanted it or not, and he had no choice but to get accustomed to what was to come.

Deliberating for only a moment longer, he spun on the spot on Disapparated, arriving in the middle of Draco's office in Antares. Draco and Camilla, who had been discussing something, looked up in surprise, Draco's expression growing worried.

"What's wrong?" he asked, rising to his feet, as Harry dusted the snow off himself and strode up to them. "I'll get back to you on these," Draco told Camilla, tapping the papers on his desk. She nodded and, with a quick smile at Harry, her blue eyes twinkling, walked out of the room.

"What is it," Draco began, but Harry rounded the desk and pulled the blond against him, kissing him. Draco returned the kiss and pulled away, eyes wide with surprise, and Harry laughed feverishly, feeling light-headed with relief.

"What's going on with you?" Draco asked, but Harry only cupped his cheek and pulled him in for another kiss. "You're dirtying my floor," Draco muttered when they parted, frowning at the muddy footprints on his clean white marble.

"I love you, Draco Malfoy," Harry declared, and Draco's silver eyes shimmered, his rare, child-like smile gracing his features.

"I love you too, Harry Potter, but you better clean my floor."

"I will, for the rest of my life," Harry promised, leaning in to press his lips softly against the blond's. Draco hummed into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Harry's waist and pulling him close.

"I'll hold you to that," he said, nipping at Harry's bottom lip.

Harry grinned, deciding that the future didn't seem all that dreary after all.

* * *

 **A/n: To be honest, I had something entirely different planned for this chapter. But while I wrote it, it sort of fell together in this way and I liked it better.**

 **This is probably very sudden, but after a lot of thought, I'm thinking of ending this story here and writing a sequel where the boys have started at Hogwarts (a 6-year time-skip where Albus is in his first year (also to commemorate the fact that the canonical epilogue [19 years later] took place this year and September 1st was when Albus and Scorpius leave to Hogwarts) and continue on with the story line. Don't worry, though. This story will have an epilogue and I'll wrap it up nicely so that you can enjoy an established Drarry relationship in the sequel.**

 **Since I was originally planning to complete this story within 50 chapters, this worked out well. I hope my wonderful readers aren't too disappointed with the sudden ending. I just felt like since I had established the Drarry relationship and decided on Ginny and Harry parting ways, I wanted to start a fresh story with the same and a sequel sounded best.**

 **I would love if you reviewed to let me know what you thought.**

 **Thank you so much for reading, especially the ones who have stuck around from the very beginning and of course the ones who have joined me along the way. Your love and support are what led this story to completion and what has inspired me to write a sequel for you all.**

 **Stay tuned for the epilogue, and if you want to be notified when I post the sequel, please follow me (not the story, but me, the author).**

 **It has been a long and wonderful journey, and I thoroughly enjoyed every bit of it. This story is everything I wanted it to be and more.**

 **Thank you all so, so much for reading and for all the love.**

 **Love,**

 **Arty xx**


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